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NOVELS

SIR EDWAllD BULWER LYTTON

JLtbrara? JB'oitlon

ROMANCES
VOL. XXV

ZANONI

BT

SIR EDWARD BULWER LYTTON, BART.

LIBRARY EDITION— IN TWO VOLUMES

VOL. II.

PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.

1862.

Digitized by the Internet Arcliive

in 2010 witln funding from

Tine Institute of Museum and Library Services through an Indiana State Library LSTA Grant

http://www.archive.org/details/zanoni02lytt

ZANONI.

BOOK FOURTH.

THE DWELLER OP THE THRESHOLD.

. CHAPTER I.

Come vittima io vengo all' ara.*

Metast., At. ii. Sc. 7.

It was about a month after the date of Zanoni's de-
parture, and Glyndon's introduction to Mejnour, when two
Englishmen were walking, arm in arm, through the Toledo.

"I tell you," said one (who spoke warmly), "that if
you have a particle of common sense left in you, you will
accompany me to England. This Mejnour is an impostor
more dangerous, because more in earnest, than Zanoni.
After all, what do his promises amount to ? You allow
that nothing can be more equivocal. You say that he
has left Naples — that he has selected a retreat more con-

* As a victim I go to the altar.
1 * (5)

6 Z AN ON I.

genial than the crowded thoroughfares of men to the studies
in which he is to initiate you ; and this retreat is among
the haunts of the fiercest bandits of Italy — haunts which
justice itself dares not penetrate. Fitting hermitage for
a sage ! I tremble for you. What if this stranger of
whom nothing is known — be leagued with the robbers ;
and these lures for your credulity bait but the traps for
your property — perhaps your life? You might come
off cheaply by a ransom of half your fortune. You smile
indignantly ! Well ; put common sense out of the ques-
tion ; take your own view of the matter. You are to
undergo an ordeal which Mejnour himself does not profess
to describe as a very tempting one. It may, or it may
not succeed ; if it does not, you are menaced with the
darkest evils ; and if it does, you cannot be better off than
the dull and joyless mystic whom you have taken for a
master. Away with this folly ; enjoy youth while it is
left to you. Return with me to England ; forget these
dreams ; enter your proper career ; form affections more
respectable than those which lured you awhile to an
Italian adventuress. Attend to your fortune, make money,
and become a happy and distinguished man. This is the
advice of sober friendship ; yet the promises I hold out to
you are fairer than those of Mejnour."

" Mervale," said Glyndon, doggedly, "I cannot, if I
would, yield to your wishes. A power that is above me
urges me on ; I cannot resist its influence. I will proceed
to the last in the strange career I have commenced. Think

ZANONI. 7

of me no more. Follow yourself the advice you give to
me, and be happy."

"This is madness," said Mervale ; "your health is
already failing ; you are so changed I should scarcely
know you. Come ; I have already had your name entered
in my passport ; in another hour I shall be gone, and you,
boy that you are, will be left without a friend, to the
deceits of your own fancy and the machinations of this
relentless mountebank."

"Enough," said Glyndon, coldly; "you cease to be an
effective counsellor when you suffer your prejudices to be
thus evident. I have already had ample proof," added
the Englishman, and his pale cheek grew more pale, " of
the power of this man — if man he be, which I sometimes
doubt — and, come life, come death, I will not shrink from
the paths that allure me. Farewell, Mervale, if we never
meet again, if you hear, amidst our old and cheerful haunts,
that Clarence Glyndon sleeps the last sleep by the shores
of Naples, or amidst yon distant hills, say to the friends
of our youth — * He died worthily, as thousands of Martyr-
students have died before him, in the pursuit of know-
ledge.'"

He wrung Mervale's hand as he spoke, darted from his
side, and disappeared amidst the crowd.

By the corner of the Toledo, he was arrested by Nicot.

"Ah, Glyndon ! I have not seen you this month. Where
have you hid yourself? Have you been absorbed in your
studies ? "

"Yes."

8 ZANONT.

" I am about to leave Naples for Paris. Will you
accompany me ? Talent of all order is eagerly sought
for there, and will be sure to rise."

" I thank you ; I have other schemes for the present."

" So laconic ! — what ails you ? Do you grieve for the
loss of the Pisani ? Take example by me. I have already
consoled myself with Bianca Sacchini — a handsome woman
— enlightened — no prejudices. A valuable creature I
shall find her, no doubt. But as for this Zanoni ! "

"What of him?"

" If ever I paint an allegorical subject, I will take his
likeness as Satan. Ha, ha ! a true painter's revenge —
eh ? And the way of the world, too ! When we can do
nothing else against a man whom we hate, we can at least
paint his effigies as the Devil's. Seriousl}^, though : I
abhor that man."

" Wherefore ? "

" Wherefore ! Has he not carried off the wife and the
dowry I had marked for myself? Yet, after all," added
Nicot, musingly, " had he served instead of injured me, I
should have hated him all the same. His very form, and
his very face, made me at once envy and detest him. I
feel that there is something antipathetic in our natures.
I feel, too, that we shall meet again, when Jean Nicot's
hate may be less impotent. We, too, cher confrere —
we, too, may meet again I Ywe la Repiiblique! I to
my new world 1 "

"And I to mine. Farewell ! "

That day Mervale left Naples ; the next morning

ZANONI. 9

Glyndon also quitted the City of Delight alone, and on
horseback. He bent his way into those picturesque but
dangerous parts of the country, which at that time were
infested by banditti, and which few travellers dared to
pass, even in broad day-light, without a strong escort.
A road more lonely cannot well be conceived than that
on which the hoofs of his steed, striking upon the frag-
ments of rock that encumbered the neglected way, woke
a dull and melancholy echo. Large tracts of waste land,
varied by the rank and profuse foliage of the South, lay
before him ; occasionally, a wild goat peeped down from
some rocky crag, or the discordant cry of a bird of prey,
startled in its sombre haunt, was heard above the hills.
These were the only signs of life ; not a human being
was met — not a hut was visible. Wrapped in his own
ardent and solemn thoughts, the young man continued
his way, till the sun had spent its noon-day heat, and a
breeze that announced the approach of eve, sprung up
from the unseen ocean which lay far distant to his right.
It was then that a turn in the road brought before him
one of those long, desolate, gloomy villages which are
found in the interior of the Neapolitan dominions ; and
now he came upon a small chapel on one side the road,
with a gaudily painted image of the Virgin in the open
shrine. Around this spot, which, in the heart of a Christian
land, retained the vestige of the old idolatry (for just such
were the chapels that in the pagan age were dedicated to
the demon-saints of mythology), gathered six or seven
miserable and squalid wretches, whom the Curse of the

10 Z A N 0 N I .

Leper had cut off from mankind. They set up a shrill
cry as they turned their ghastly visages towards the horse-
man ; and without stirring from the spot, stretched out
their gaunt arms, and implored charity in the name of the
Merciful Mother ! Glyndon hastily threw them some
small coins, and, turning away his face, clapped spurs to
his horse, and relaxed not his speed till he entered the
village. On either side the narrow and miry street, fierce
and haggard forms — some leaning against the ruined
walls of blackened huts, some seated at the threshold,
some lying at full length in the mud — presented groups
that at once invoked pity and aroused alarm : pity for
their squalor, alarm for their ferocity imprinted on their
savage aspects. They gazed at him, grim and sullen, as
he rode slowly up the rugged street ; sometimes whispering
significantly to each other, but without attempting to stop
his way. Even the children hushed their babble, and
ragged urchins devouring him with sparkling eyes, mut-
tered to their mothers, " We shall feast well to-morrow ! "
It was, indeed, one of those hamlets in which Law sets
not its sober step, in which Yiolence and Murder house
secure — hamlets common then in the wilder parts of Italy,
— in which the peasant was but the gentler name for the
robber.

Glyndon's heart somewhat failed him as he looked
around, and the question ho desired to ask died upon his
lips. At length, from one of the dismal cabins emerged
a form superior to the rest. Instead of the patched and
ragged overall, which made the only garment of the men

Z AN ONI. 11

he had hitherto seen, the dress of this person was charac-
terized by all the trappings of the national bravery. Upon
his raven hair, the glossy curls of which made a notable
contrast to the matted and elfin locks of the savages
around, was placed a cloth cap with a gold tassel that
hung down to his shoulder ; his moustaches were trimmed
with care, and a silk kerchief of gay hues was twisted
round a well-shaped but sinewy throat ; a short jacket
of rough cloth was decorated with several rows of gilt
filagree buttons ; his nether garments fitted tight to his
limbs, and were curiously braided ; while, in a broad
parti-colored sash, were placed two silver-hilted pistols,
and the sheathed knife, usually worn by Italians of the
lower order, mounted in ivory elaborately carved. A small
carbine of handsome workmanship was slung across his
shoulder, and completed his costume. The man himself
was of middle size, athletic yet slender, with straight and
regular features, sun-burnt, but not swarthy ; and an
expression of countenance which, though reckless and
bold, had in it frankness rather than ferocity, and, if defy-
ing, was not altogether unprepossessing.

Glyndon, after eyeing this figure for some moments
with great attention, checked his rein, and asked the way
to the "Castle of the Mountain."

The man lifted his cap as he heard the question, and,
approaching Glyndon, laid his hand upon the neck of the
horse, and said, in a low voice, " Then you are the cavalier
whom our patron the signor expected. He bade me wait
for you here, and lead you to the castle. And indeed,

12 ZANONI.

signer, it might have been unfortunate if I had neglected
to obey the command."

The man then, drawing a little aside, called out to the
by-standers, in a loud voice, " Ho, ho ! my friends, pay
henceforth and for ever all respect to this worshipful
cavalier. He is the expected guest of our blessed patron
of the Castle of the Mountain. Long life to him ! May
he, like his host, be safe by day and by night — on the
hill and in the waste — against the dagger and the bullet
— in limb and in life ! Cursed be he who touches a hair
of his head, or a baioccho in his pouch. Now and for
ever we will protect and honor him — for the law or against
the law — with the faith, and to the death. Amen!
Amen ! "

"Amen ! " responded, in wild chorus, a hundred voices ;
and the scattered and straggling groups pressed up the
street, nearer and nearer to the horseman.

"And that he may be known," continued the English-
man's strange protector, " to the eye and to the ear, I
place around him the white sash, and I give him the sacred
watch-word — 'Peace to the Brave.'' Signor, when you
wear this sash, the proudest in these parts will bare the
head and bend the knee. Signor, when you utter this
watch-word, the bravest hearts will be bound to your bid-
ding. Desire you safety, or ask you revenge — to gain
a beauty, or to lose a foe — speak but the word, and we
are yours, — we are yours I Is it not so, comrades ? "

And again the hoarse voices shouted "Amen, Amen I "

" Now, signor," whispered the bravo, " if you have a

ZANONI. 13

few coins to spare, scatter them amongst the crowd, and
let us be gone."

Glyndon, not displeased at the concluding sentence,
emptied his purse in the streets -, and while, with mingled
oaths, blessings, shrieks, and yells, men, women, and chil-
dren scrambled for the money, the bravo, taking the rein
of the horse, led it a few paces through the village at a
brisk trot, and then, turning up a narrow lane to the left,
in a few minutes neither houses nor men were visible, and
the mountains closed their path on either side. It was
then that, releasing the bridle and slackening his pace,
the guide turned his dark eyes on Glyndon with an arch
expression, and said —

" Your Excellency was not, perhaps, prepared for the
hearty welcome we have given you."

" Why, in truth, I ought to have been prepared for it,
since the signor, to whose house I am bound, did not
disguise from me the character of the neighborhood.
And your name, my friend, if I may so call you ? "

" Oh, no ceremonies with me, Excellency. In the
village I am generally called Maestro Paolo. I had a
surname once, though a very equivocal one ; and I have
forgotten that since I retired from the world."

''And was it from disgust, from poverty, or from some
— some ebullition of passion which entailed punishment,
that you betook yourself to the mountains ?"

"Why, signor," said the bravo, with a gay laugh,
"hermits of my class seldom love the confessional. How-
ever, I have no secrets while my step is in these defiles,

11—2

14 Z AN ONI.

my whistle in my pouch, and my carbine at my back."
With that the robber, as if he loved permission to talk
at his will, hemmed thrice, and began with much humor ;
though as his tale proceeded, the memories it roused
seemed to carry him farther than he at first intended, and
reckless and light-hearted ease gave way to that fierce
and varied play of countenance and passion of gesture
which characterize the emotions of his countrymen.

'' I was born at Terracina — a fair spot, is it not ? My
father was a learned monk, of high birth ; my mother —
Heaven rest her ! — an inn-keeper's pretty daughter. Of
course there could be no marriage in the case ; and when
I was born, the monk gravely declared my appearance to
be miraculous. I was dedicated from my cradle to the
altar ; and my head was universally declared to be the
orthodox shape for a cowl. As I grew up, the monk
took great pains with my education ; and I learned Latin
and psalmody as soon as less miraculous infants learn
crowing. Nor did the holy man's care stint itself to my
interior accomplishments. Although vow^ed to poverty,
he always contrived that my mother should have her
pockets full ; and between her pockets and mine there
was soon established a clandestine communication ; ac-
cordingly, at fourteen, I wore my cap on one side, stuck
pistols in my belt, and assumed the swagger of a cavalier
and a gallant. At that age my poor mother died ; and
about the same period, my father, having written a History
of the Pontifical Bulls, in forty volumes, and being, as I
said, of high birth, obtained a Cardinal's hat. From

ZANONI. 16

that time he thought fit to disown your humble servant.
He bound me over to an honest notary at IS'aples, and
gave me two hundred crowns by way of provision. Well,
signor, I saw enough of the law to convince me that I
should never be rogue enough to shine in the profession.
So, instead of spoiling parchment, I made love to the
notary's daughter. My master discovered our innocent
amusement, and turned me out of doors : that was dis-
agreeable. But my Ninetta loved me, and took care that
I should not lie out in the streets with the Lazzaroni.
Little jade, I think I see her now with her bare feet and
her finger to her lips, opening the door in the summer
nights, and bidding me creep softly into the kitchen,
where, praised be the saints ! a flask and a manchet always
awaited the hungry amoroso. At last, however, Ninetta
grew cold. It is the way of the sex, signor. Her father
found her an excellent marriage in the person of a withered
old picture-dealer. She took the spouse, and very pro-
perly clapped the door in the face of her lover. I was
not disheartened. Excellency ; no, not I. Women are
plentiful while we are young. So, without a ducat in
my pocket, or a crust for my teeth, I set out to seek my
fortune on board of a Spanish merchantman. That was
duller work than I expected ; but luckily we were attacked
by a pirate — half the crew were butchered, the rest cap-
tured. I was one of the last — always in luck, you see,
signor — monks' sons have a knack that way! The
captain of the pirates took a fancy to me. ' Serve with
us? 'said he. 'Too happy,' said I. Behold me, then,

16 ZANONI.

a pirate ! 0 jolly life ! how I blessed the old notary for
turning me out of doors ! What feasting, what fighting,
what wooing, what quarrelling ! Sometimes we ran ashore
and enjoyed ourselves like princes : sometimes we lay la
a calm for days together on the loveliest sea that man
ever traversed. And then, if the breeze rose and a sail
came in sight, who so merry as we ? I passed three years
in that charming profession, and then, signor, I grew
ambitious. I caballed against the captain ; I wanted
his post. One still night we struck the blow. The ship
was like a log in the sea, no land to be seen from the
mast-head, the waves like glass, and the moon at its full.
Tip we rose ; thirty of us and more. Up we rose with a
shout : we poured into the captain's cabin, I at the head.
The brave old boy had caught the alarm, and there he
stood at the door-way, a pistol in each hand ; and his
one eye (he had only one I) worse to meet than the pistols
were.

" ' Yield ! ' cried I, 'your life shall be safe.'
" ' Take that,' said he, and whiz went the bullet ; but
the saints took care of their own, and the ball passed by
my cheek, and shot the boatswain behind me. I closed
with the captain, and the other pistol went off without
mischief in the struggle. Such a fellow he was — six
feet four without his shoes ! Over we went, rolling each
on the other. Santa Maria ! no time to get hold of one's
knife. Meanwhile all the crew were up, some for the
captain, some for me — clashing and firing, and swearing
and groaning, and now and then a heavy splash in the

ZANONI. lY

sea I Fine supper for the sharks that night I At last
old Bilboa got uppermost ; out flashed his knife ; down
it came, but not to my heart. No ! I gave my left arm
as a shield ; and the blade went through to the hilt, with
the blood spurting up like the rain from a whale's nostril !
With the weight of the blow the stout fellow came down,
so that his face touched mine ; with my right hand I caught
him by the throat, turned him over like a lamb, signor,
and faith it was soon all up with him — the boatswain's
brother, a fat Dutchman, ran him through with a pike.

" ' Old fellow,' said I, as he turned his terrible eye to
me, ' I bear you no malice, but we must try to get on in
the world, you know.' The captain grinned, and gave up
the ghost. I went upon deck — what a sight ! Twenty
bold fellows stark and cold, and the moon sparkling on
the puddles of blood as calmly as if it were water. Well,
signor, the victory was ours, and the ship mine ; I ruled
merrily enough for six months. We then attacked a
French ship twice our size ; what sport it was ! And
we had not had a good fight so long, we were quite like
virgins at it ! We got the best of it, and won ship and
cargo. They wanted to pistol the captain, but that was
against my laws ; so we gagged him, for he scolded as
loud as if we were married to him ; left him and the rest
of his crew on board our own vessel, which was terribly
battered ; clapped our black flag on the Frenchman's, and
set off merrily, with a brisk wind in our favor. But luck
deserted us on forsaking our own dear old ship. A storm
came on, a plank struck ; several of us escaped in the
2* B

18 ZANONT.

boat ; we had lots of gold with us, but no water ! For
two days and two nights we suffered horribly ; but at last
we ran ashore near a French sea-port. Our sorry plight
moved compassion, and as we had money, we were not
suspected — people only suspect the poor. Here we soon
recovered our fatigues, rigged ourselves out gaily, and
your humble servant was considered as noble a captain
as ever walked deck. But now, alas, my fate would have
it that I should fall in love with a silk-mercer's daughter.
Ah, how I loved her ! — the pretty Clara ! Yes, I loved
her so well, that I was seized with horror at my past life !
I resolved to repent, to marry her, and settle down into
an honest man. Accordingly, I summoned my messmates,
told them my resolution, resigned my command, and per-
suaded them to depart. They were good fellows ; engaged
with a Dutchman, against whom I heard afterwards they
made a successful mutiny, but I never saw them more.
I had two thousand crowns still left ; with this sum I
obtained the consent of the silk-mercer, and it was agreed
that I should become a partner in the firm. I need not
say that no one suspected that I had been so great a man>
and I passed for a Neapolitan goldsmith's son, instead of
a cardinal's. I was very happy then, signer, very — I
could not have harmed a fly ! Had I married Clara, I
had been as gentle a mercer as ever handled a measure."
The bravo paused a moment, and it was easy to see
that he felt more than his words and tone betokened.
" Well, well, we must not look back at the past too earn-
estly— the sun-light upon it makes one's eyes water. The

Z ANON I. 19

day was fixed for our wedding — it approached. On the
evening before the appointed day, Clara, her mother, her
little sister, and myself, were walking by the port ; and
as we looked on the sea, I was telling them old gossip-
tales of mermaids and sea-serpents, when a red-faced
bottle-nosed Frenchman clapped himself right before me,
and placing his spectacles very deliberately astride his
proboscis, echoed out, ^Sacre mille tonnerres! this is
the damned pirate who boarded the Niohe ! '

" ' None of your jests,' said I, mildly. * Ho, ho ! ' said
he ; 'I can't be mistaken ; help there ! ' and he griped me
by the collar. I replied, as you may suppose, by laying
him in the kennel : but it would not do. The French
captain had a French lieutenant at his back, whose memory
was as good as his chief's. A crowd assembled ; other
sailors came up ; the odds were against me. I slept that
night in prison ; and in a few weeks afterwards, I was
sent to the galleys. They spared my life, because the old
Frenchman politely averred that I had made my crew
spare his. You may believe that the oar and the chain
was not to my taste. I and two others escaped, they
took to the road, and have, no doubt, been long since
broken on the wheel. I, soft soul, would not commit
another crime to gain my bread, for Clara was still at my
heart with her sweet eyes : so, limiting my rogueries to
the theft of a beggar's rags, which I compensated by
leaving him my galley attire instead, I begged my way
to the town where I left Clara. It was a clear winter's
day when I approached the outskirts of the town. I

20 ZANONI.

had no fear of detection, for my beard and hair was as
good as a mask. Oh, Mother of Mercy ! there came
across my way a faneral procession ! There, now you
know it ; I can tell you no more. She had died, perhaps
of love, more likely of shame. Can you guess how I
spent that night ? — I stole a pickaxe from a mason's
shed, and all alone and unseen, under the frosty heavens,
I dug the fresh mould from the grave ; I lifted the coffin,
I wrenched the lid, I saw her again — again ! Decay
had not touched her. She was always pale in life ! I
could have sworn she lived ! It was a blessed thing to
see her once more, and all alone too ! But then, at dawn,
to give her back to the earth — to close the lid, to throw
down the mould, to hear the pebbles rattle on the coffin
— that was dreadful ! Signor, I never knew before, and
I don't wish to think now, how valuable a thing human
life is. At sunrise I was again a wanderer ; but now that
Clara was gone, my scruples vanished, and again I was at

war with my betters. I contrived at last, at 0 , to

get taken on board a vessel bound to Leghorn, working
out my passage. From Leghorn I went to Rome, and
stationed myself at the door of the cardinal's palace. Out
he came, his gilded coach at the gate.

" ' Ho, father ! ' said I ; ' don't you know me ? '

" 'Who are you ?'

"'Your son,' said I, in a whisper.

" The cardinal drew back, looked at me earnestly, and
mused a moment. 'All men are my sons,' quoth he then,
very mildly ; ' there is gold for thee ! To him who begs

Z AN ONI. 21

once, alms are due ; to him who begs twice, jails are open.
Take the hint and molest me no more. Heaven bless
thee ! ' With that he got into his coach, and drove off
to the Vatican. His purse which he had left behind was
well supplied. I was grateful and contented, and took
my way to Terracina. I had not long passed the marshes,
when I saw two horsemen approach at a canter.

"'You look poor, friend,' said one of them, halting;
'yet you are strong.'

" ' Poor men and strong are both serviceable and dan-
gerous, Signor Cavalier.'

"'Well said; follow us.'

" I obeyed, and became a bandit. I rose by degrees ;
and as I have always been mild in my calling, and have
taken purses without cutting throats, I bear an excellent
character, and can eat my macaroni at Naples without
any danger to life and limb. For the last two years I
have settled in these parts, where I hold sway, and where
I have purchased land. I am called a farmer, signor ;
and I myself now only rob for amusement, and to keep
my hand in. I trust I have satisfied your curiosity. We
are within a hundred yards of the castle."

"And how," asked the Englishman, whose interest had
been much excited by his companion's narrative, " and
how came you acquainted with my host ? — and by what
means has he so well conciliated the good-will of yourself
and friends ? "

Maestro Paolo turned his black eyes very gravely to-
wards his questioner. " Why, signor," said he, " you must

22 ZANONI.

surely know more of the foreign cavalier with the hard
name than I do. All I can say is, that about a fortnight
ago I chanced to be standing by a booth in the Toledo
at Naples, when a sober-looking gentleman touched me
by the arm, and said, ' Maestro Paolo, I want to make
yoar acquaintance ; do me the favoi to come in to yonder
tavern, and drink a flask of lacrima.' 'Willingly,' said I.
So we entered the tavern. When we were seated, my

new acquaintance thus accosted me : ' The Count d'O

has offered to let me hire his old castle near B . You

know the spot ? '

" ' Extremely well ; no one has inhabited it for a century
at least ; it is half in ruins, signor. A queer place to
hire; I hope the rent is not heavy.'

'' ' Maestro Paolo,' said he, ' I am a philosopher, and
don't care for luxuries. I want a quiet retreat for some
scientific experiments. The castle will suit me very well,
provided you will accept me as a neighbor, and place me
and my friends under your special protection. I am rich ;
but I shall take nothing to the castle worth robbing. I
will pay one rent to the count, and another to you.'

"With that we soon came to terms ; and as the strange
signor doubled the sum I myself proposed, he is in high
favor with all his neighbors. We would guard the whole
castle against an army. And now, signor, that I have
been thus frank, be frank with me. Who is this singular
cavalier ? "

"Who ? — he himself told you, a philosopher."

Z ANON I. 23

"Hem! searching for the philosopher's stone, — eh?
a bit of a magician ; afraid of the priests ? "

"Precisely. You have hit it."

"I thought so; and you are his pupil?"

"I am."

" I wish you well through it," said the robber seriously,
and crossing himself with much devotion : " I am not
much better than other people, but one's soul is one's
soul. I do not mind a little honest robbery, or knocking
a man on the head if need be — but to make a bargain
with the devil ! — Ah ! take care, young gentleman, take
care."

"You need not fear," said Glyndon, smiling; "my
preceptor is too wise and too good for such a compact.
But here we are, I suppose. A noble ruin — a glorious
prospect 1 "

Glyndon paused delightedly, and surveyed the scene
before and below with the eye of a painter. Insensibly,
while listening to the bandit, he had wound up a consid-
erable ascent, and now he was upon a broad ledge of rock
covered with mosses and dwarf shrubs. Between this
eminence and another of equal height upon which the
castle was built, there was a deep but narrow fissure,
overgrown with the most profuse foliage, so that the eye
could not penetrate many yards below tlie rugged surface
of the abyss ; but the profoundness might be w^ell con-
jectured by the hoarse, low, monotonous roar of waters
unseen that rolled below, and the subsequent course of
which was visible at a distance in a perturbed and rapid

24 ZANONI.

stream, that intersected the waste and desolate valleys.
To the left, the prospect seemed almost boundless ; the
extreme clearness of the purple air serving to render
distinct the features of a range of country that a conqueror
of old might have deemed in itself a kingdom. Lonely
and desolate as the road which Glyndon had passed that
day had appeared, the landscape now seemed studded
with castles, spires, and villages. Afar off, Naples gleamed
whitely in the last rays of the sun, and the rose-tints of
the horizon melted into the azure of her glorious bay.
Yet more remote, and in another part of the prospect,
might be caught, dim and shadowy, and backed by the
darkest foliage, the ruined pillars of the ancient Posidonia.
There, in the midst of his blackened and sterile realms^
rose the dismal Mount of Fire ; while, on the other hand,
winding through variegated plains, to which distance lent
all its magic, glittered many and many a stream, by which
Etruscan and Sybarite, Roman and Saracen, and Norman,
had, at intervals of ages, pitched the invading tent. All
the visions of the past — the stormy and dazzling histories
of southern Italy — rushed over the artist's mind as he
gazed below. And then, slowly turning to look behind,
he saw the grey and mouldering walls of the castle, in
which he sought the secrets that were to give to hope in
the Future a mightier empire than memory owns in the
Past. It was one of those baronial fortresses with which
Italy was studded in the earlier middle ages, having but
little of the Gothic grace or grandeur which belongs to
the ecclesiastical architecture of the same time ; but rude.

ZANONI. 25

vast, and menacing, even in decay. A wooden bridge
was thrown over the chasm, wide enough to admit two
horsemen abreast ; and the planks trembled and gave
back a hollow sound as Glyndon urged his jaded steed
across.

A road which had once been broad and paved with
rough flags, but which now was half-obliterated by long
grass and rank weeds, conducted to the outer court of
the castle hard by ; the gates were open, and half the
building in this part was dismantled ; the ruins partially
hid by ivy that was the growth of centuries. But on
entering the inner court, Glyndon was not sorry to notice
that there was less appearance of neglect and decay ; some
wild roses gave a smile to the grey walls, and in the centre
there was a fountain, in which the waters still trickled
coolly, and with a pleasing murmur, from the jaws of a
gigantic Triton. Here he was met by Mejnour with a
smile.

"Welcome, my friend and pupil," said he; ''he who
seeks for Truth can find in these solitudes an immortal
Academe."

II.

26 ZANONI.

CHAPTER II.

And Abaris, so far from esteeming Pythagoras, who taught these
things, a necromancer or wizard, rather revered and admired him
as something divine. — Iamblicii., Vit. Pythag.

The attendants whom Mejnour had engaged for his
strange abode, were such as might suit a philosopher of
few wants. An old Armenian, whom Glyndon recognized
as in the mystic's service at Naples ; a tall, hard-featured
woman from the village, recommended by Maestro Paolo,
and two long-haired, smooth-spoken, but fierce-visaged
youths from the same place, and honored by the same
sponsorship, constituted the establishment. The rooms
used by the sage were commodious and weather-proof,
with some remains of ancient splendor in the faded arras
that clothed the walls, and the huge tables of costly
marble and elaborate carving. Glyndon's sleeping apart-
ment communicated with a kind of Belvidere, or terrace,
that commanded prospects of unrivalled beauty and extent*
and was separated on the other side by a long gallery,
and a flight of ten or a dozen stairs, from the private
chambers of the mystic. There was about the whole
place a sombre and yet not displeasing depth of repose.
It suited well with the studies to which it was now to be
appropriated.

For several days Mejnour refused to confer with Glyn-
don on the subjects nearest to his heart.

ZANONI. 21

"All without," said he, " is prepared, but not all within ;
your own soul must grow accustomed to the spot, and
filled with the surrounding nature ; for nature is the source
of all inspiration."

With these words Mejnour turned to lighter topics.
He made the Englishman accompany him in long rambles
through the wild scenes around, and he smiled approv-
ingly when the young artist gave way to the enthusiasm
which their fearful beauty could not have failed to rouse
in a duller breast ; and then Mejnour poured forth to his
wondering pupil the stores of a knowledge that seemed
inexhaustible and boundless. He gave accounts the most
curious, graphic, and minute, of the various races (their
characters, habits, creeds, and manners) by which that
fair land had been successively overrun. It is true that
his descriptions could not be found in books, and were
unsupported by learned authorities ; but he possessed the
true charm of the tale-teller, and spoke of all with the
animated confidence of a personal witness. Sometimes,
too, he would converse upon the more durable and the
loftier mysteries of Nature with an eloquence and a re-
search which invested them with all the colors rather of
poetry than science. Insensibly the young artist found
himself elevated and soothed by the lore of his companion ;
the fever of his wild desires was slaked. His mind became
more and more lulled into the divine tranquillity of con-
templation ; he felt himself a nobler being ; and in the
silence of his senses he imagined that he heard tb^^ voice
of his soul.

28 Z AN ONI.

It was to this state that Mejnour evidently sought to
bring the Neophyte, and in this elementary initiation the
mystic was like every more ordinary sage. For he who
seeks to discover, must first reduce himself into a kind
of abstract idealism, and be rendered up, in solemn and
swe&t bondage, to the faculties which contemplate and

IMAGINE.

Glyndon noticed that, in their rambles, Mejnour often
paused where the foliage was rifest, to gather some herb
or flower ; and this reminded him that he had seen Zanoni
similarly occupied. " Can these humble children of nature,"
said he one day to Mejnour, "things that bloom and
wither in a day, be serviceable to the science of the higher
secrets ? Is there a pharmacy for the soul as well as the
body, and do the nurslings of the summer minister not
only to human health but spiritual immortality ? "

" If," answered Mejnour, '' a stranger had visited a
wandering tribe before one property of herbalism was
known to them ; if he had told the savages that the herbs,
which they trampled under foot, were endowed with the
most potent virtues ; that one would restore to health a
brother on the verge of death ; that another would paralyze
into idiocy their wisest sage ; that athird would strike life-
less to the dust their most stalwart champion ; that tears
and laughter, vigor and disease, madness and reason, wake-
fulness and sleep, existence and dissolution, were coiled
up in those unregarded leaves, — would they not have held
him a sorcorer or a liar ? To half the virtues of the vegeta-
ble world mankind are yet in the darkness of the savages

ZANONI. 29

I have supposed. There are faculties within us with which
certain herbs have affinity, and over which they have
power. The moly of the ancients is not all a fable."

The apparent character of Mejnour differed in much
from that of Zanoni ; and while it fascinated Glyndon less,
it subdued and impressed him more. The conversation
of Zanoni evinced a deep and general interest for mankind
— a feeling approaching to enthusiasm for Art and Beauty.
The stories circulated concerning his habits elevated the
mysteries of his life by actions of charity and beneficence.
And in all this, there was something genial and humane
that softened the awe he created, and tended, perhaps, to
raise suspicions as to the loftier secrets that he arrogated
to himself. But Mejnour seemed wholly indifferent to all
the actual world. If he committed no evil, he seemed
equally apathetic to good. His deeds relieved no want,
his words pitied no distress. What we call the heart
appeared to have merged into the intellect. He moved,
thought, and lived, like some regular and calm Abstrac-
tion, rather than one who yet retained, with the form, the
feelings and sympathies of his kind !

Glyndon once, observing the tone of supreme indifference
with which he spoke of those changes on the face of earth,
which he asserted he had witnessed, ventured to remark to
him the distinction he had noted.

" It is true," said Mejnour, coldly. " My life is the
life that contemplates — Zanoni's is the life that enjoys ;
when I gather the herb, I think but of its uses ; Zanoni
will pause to admire its beauties."
3*

30 Z AN ONI.

"And you deem your own the superior and the loftier
existence ? "

'^ No. His is the existence of youth — mine of age.
We have cultivated different faculties. Each has powers
the other cannot aspire to. Those with whom he associates,
live better — those who associate with me, know more."

" I have heard, in truth," said Glyndon, "that his com-
panions at Naples were observed to lead purer and nobler
lives after intercourse with Zanoni; yet were they not
strange companions, at the best, for a sage ? This terrible
power, too, that he exercises at will, as in the death of

the Prince di , and that of the Count Ughelli, scarcely

becomes the tranquil seeker after good."

'' True," said Mejnour, with an icy smile : " such must
ever be the error of those philosophers who would meddle
with the active life of mankind. You cannot serve some
without injuring others ; you cannot protect the good
without warring on the bad ; and if you desire to reform
the faulty, why, you must lower yourself to live with the
faulty to know their faults. Even so saith Paracelsus, a
great man, though often wrong.* Not mine this folly;
I live but in knowledge — I have no life in mankind I "

Another time Glyndon questioned the mystic as to the
nature of that union or fraternity to which Zanoni had
once referred.

" I am right, I suppose," said he, "in conjecturing that

* " It is as necessary to know evil things as good ; for who can
know what is good without the knowing what is evil ? " &c. —
Paracelsus De Nat. Rer., lib. 3.

Z AN ONI. 31

you and himself profess to be the brothers of the Rosy
Cross ? "

"Do you imagine," answered Mejnour, "that there
were no mystic and solemn unions of men seeking the
same end through the same means, before the Arabians
of Damns, in 1318, taught to a wandering German the
secrets which founded the Institution of the Kosicrucians ?
I allow, however, that the Rosicrucians formed a sect
descended from the greater and earlier school. They
were wiser than the Alchemists — their masters are wiser
than they."

"And of this early and primary order how many still
exist ? "

"Zanoni and myself."

" What, two only ! — and you profess the power to
teach to all the secret that baffles Death ? "

" Your ancestor attained that secret ; he died rather
than survive the only thing he loved. We have, my pupil,
no arts by which we can put Death out of our option, or
out of the will of Heaven. These walls may crush me as
I stand. All that we profess to do is but this — to find
out the secrets of the human frame, to know why the parts'
ossify and the blood stagnates, and to apply continual
preventives to the effects of Time. This is not Magic ;
it is the Art of Medicine rightly understood. In our'
order we hold most noble — first, that knowledge which
elevates the intellect ; secondly, that which preserves the
body. But the mere art (extracted from the juices and
simples) which recruits the animal vigor and arrests the

32 ZANONI.

progress of decay, or that more noble secret which I will
only hint to thee at present, by which heat or caloric,
as ye call it, being, as Heraclitus wisely taught, the prim-
ordial principle of life, can be made its perpetual renovator
■ — these, I say, would not suffice for safety. It is ours
also to disarm and elude the wrath of men, to turn the
swords of our foes against each other, to glide (if not
incorporeal) invisible to eyes over which we can throw
a mist and darkness. And this some seers have professed
to be the virtue of a stone of agate. Abaris placed it
in his arrow. I will find you an herb in yon valley that
will give a surer charm than the agate and the arrow.
In one word, know this, that the humblest and meanest
products of Nature are those from which the sublimest
properties are to be drawn."

''But," said Glyndon, "if possessed of these great
secrets, why so churlish in withholding their diffusion ?
Does not the false or charlatanic science differ in this
from the true and indisputable — that the last commu-
nicates to the world the process by which it attains its
discoveries ; the first boasts of marvellous results, and
refuses to explain the causes ? "

"Well said, 0 Logician of the Schools ; —but think
again. Suppose we were to impart all our knowledge
to all mankind, indiscriminately, alike to the vicious and
the virtuous — should we be benefactors or scourges?
Imagine the tyrant, the sensualist, the evil and corrupted
being possessed of these tremendous powers ; would he
not be a demon let loose on earth ? Grant that the same

ZANONI. 33

privilege be accorded also to the good ; and in what state
would be society ? Engaged in a Titan war — the good
for ever on the defensive, the bad for ever in the assault.
In the present condition of the earth, evil is a more active
principle than good, and the evil would prevail. It is for
these reasons that we are not only solemnly bound to
administer our lore only to those who will not misuse and
pervert it ; but that we place our ordeal in tests that
purify the passions and elevate the desires. And Nature
in this controls and assists us : for it places awful guar-
dians and insurmountable barriers between the ambition
of vice and the heaven of the loftier science."

Such made a small part of the numerous conversations
Mejnour held with his pupil, — conversations that, while
they appeared to address themselves to the reason, inflamed
yet more the fancy. It was the very disclaiming of all
powers which Nature, properly investigated, did not suffice
to create, that gave an air of probability to those which
Mejnour asserted Nature might bestow.

Thus days and weeks rolled on ; and the mind of Glyn-
don, gradually fitted to this sequestered and musing life,
forgot at last the vanities and chimeras of the world with-
out.

One evening he had lingered alone and late upon the
ramparts, watching the stars as, one by one, they broke
upon the twilight. Never had he felt so sensibly the
mighty power of the heavens and the earth upon man I
how much the springs of our intellectual being are moved
and acted upon by the solemn influences of nature ! As

34 ZANONI.

a patient on whom, slowly and by degrees, the agencies
of mesmerism are brought to bear, he acknowledged to
his heart the growing force of that vast and universal
magnetism v/hich is the life of creation, and binds the
atom to the whole. A strange and ineffable consciousness
of power, of the something great within the perishable
clay, appealed to feelings at once dim and glorious, — like
the faint recognitions of a holier and former being. An
impulse, that he could not resist, led him to seek the
mystic. He would demand, that hour, his initiation into
the worlds beyond our world — he was prepared to breathe
a diviner air. He entered the castle, and strode the
shadowy and star-lit gallery which conducted to Mejnour's
apartment.

CHAPTER III

Man is the eye of things. — Eurtph. de Vit. Hum.

* * * There is, therefore a certain ecstatical or transporting
power, which, if at any time it shall be excited or stirred up by
an ardent desire and most strong imagination, is able to conduct
the spirit of the more outward, even to some absent and far-distant
object. — Von Helmont.

The rooms that Mejnour occupied consisted of two
chambers communicating with each other, and a third in
which he slept. All these rooms were placed in tlie huge
square tower that beetled over the dark and bush-grown
precipice. The first chamber which Glyndon entered was
empty. With a noiseless step he passed on, and opened

Z A N O N 1 . 35

the door that admitted into the inner one. He drew back
at the threshold, overpowered bj a strong fragrance which
filled the chamber : a kind of mist thickened the air, rather
than obscured it, for this vapor was not dark, but resembled
a snow-cloud moving slowly, and in heavy undulations,
wave upon wave, regularly over the space. A mortal
cold struck to the Englishman's heart, and his blood froze.
He stood rooted to the spot ; and, as his eyes strained
involuntarily through the vapor, he fancied (for he could
not be sure that it was not the trick of his imagination)
that he saw dim, spectre-like, but gigantic forms floating
through the mist ; or was it not rather the mist itself that
formed its vapors fantastically into those moving, impal-
pable, and bodiless apparitions ? A great painter of
antiquity is said, in a picture of Hades, to have- repre-
sented the monsters, that glide through the ghostly River
of the Dead, so artfully, that the eye perceived at once
that the river itself was but a spectre, and the bloodless
things that tenanted it had no life, their forms blending
with the dead waters till, as the eye continued to gaze, it
ceased to discern them from the preternatural element
they were supposed to inhabit. Such were the moving
outlines that coiled and floated through the mist ; but
before Glyndon had even drawn breath in this atmosphere
— for his life itself seemed arrested or changed into a
kind of horrid trance — -he felt his hand seized, and he
was led from that room into the outer one. He heard
the door close — his blood rushed again through his veins,
and he saw Mejnour by his side. Strong convulsions then

3C ZANONI.

suddenly seized bis whole frame — he fell to the ground
insensible. When he recovered, he found himself in the
open air, in a rude balcony of stone that jutted from the
chamber ; the stars shining serenely over the dark abyss
below, and resting calmly upon the face of the mystic,
who stood beside him with folded arms.

" Young man," said Mejnour, "judge by what you have
just felt, how dangerous it is to seek knowledge until
prepared to receive it. Another moment in the air of
that chamber, and you had been a corpse."

" Then of what nature was the knowledge that you,
once mortal like myself, could safely have sought in that
icy atmosphere, which it was death for me to breathe ?

— Mejnour," continued Glyndon, and his wild desire,
sharpened by the very danger he had passed, once more
animated and nerved him ; " I am prepared at least for
the first steps. I come to you as, of old, the pupil to the
Hierophant,^ and demand the initiation."

Mejnour passed his hand over the young man's heart

— it beat loud, regularly, and boldly. He looked at him
with something almost like admiration in his passionless
and frigid features, and muttered, half to himself — "Sure-
ly, in so much courage the true disciple is found at last."
Then, speaking aloud, he added — "Be it so ; man's first
initiation is in trance. In dreams commences all human
knowledge ; in dreams hovers over measureless space the
first faint bridge between spirit and spirit — this world
and the worlds beyond ! Look steadfastly on yonder
star ! "

Z A N 0 N 1 . 3t

Glyndon obej^ed, and Mejnour retired into the cham-
ber ; from which there then slowly emerged a vapor,
somewhat paler and of fainter odor than that which had
nearly produced so fatal an effect on his frame. This, on
the contrary, as it coiled around him, and then melted in
thin spires into the air, breathed a refreshing and healthful
fragrance. He still kept his eyes on the star, and the
star seemed gradually to fix and command his gaze. A
sort of languor next seized his frame, but without, as he
thought, communicating itself to the mind ; and as this
crept over him, he felt his temples sprinkled with some
volatile and fiery essence. At the same moment a slight
tremor shook his limbs, and thrilled through his veins.
The languor increased ; still he kept his gaze upon the
star ; and now its luminous circumference seemed to expand
and dilate. It became gradually softer and clearer in its
light ; spreading wider and broader, it diffused all space
— all space seemed swallowed up in it. And at last, in
the midst of a silver shining atmosphere, he felt as if
something burst within his brain — as if a strong chain
were broken ; and at that moment a sense of heavenly
liberty, of unutterable delight, of freedom from the body,
of bird-like lightness, seemed to float him into the space
itself. " Whom now upon earth dost thou wish to see ? "
whispered the voice of Mejnour. " Yiola and Zanoni ! "
answered Glyndon, in his heart ; but he felt that his lips
moved not. Suddenly at that thought — through this
space, in which nothing save one mellow translucent light
had been discernible, — a swift succession of shadowy

II. — 4

38 ZANONI.

landscapes seemed to roll : trees, mountains, cities, seas^
glided along, like the changes of a phantasmagoria ; and
at last, settled and stationary, he saw a cave by the grad-
ual marge of an ocean shore — myrtles and orange-trees
clothing the gentle banks. On a height, at a distance,
gleamed the white but shattered relics of some ruined
heathen edifice ; and the moon, in calm splendor, shining
over all, literally bathed with its light two forms without
the cave, at whose feet the blue waters crept, and he
thought that he even heard them murmur. He recognized
both the figures. Zanoni was seated on a fragment of
stone ; Viola, half-reclining by his side, was looking into
his face, which was bent down to her, and in her counte-
nance was the expression of that perfect happiness which
belongs to perfect love. " Wouldst thou hear them speak ? "
whispered Mejuour ; and again, without sound, Glyndon
inly answered, " Yes ! " Their voices then came to his
ear, but in tones that seemed to him strange ; so subdued
were they, and sounding, as it were, so far off, that they
were as voices heard in the visions of some holier men,
from a distant sphere.

"And how is it," said Yiola, "that thou canst find
pleasure in listening to the ignorant?"

''Because the heart is never ignorant; because the
mysteries of the feelings are as full of wonder as those
of the intellect. If at times thou canst not comprehend
the language of my thoughts, at times, also, I hear sweet
enigmas in that of thy emotions."

"Ah, say not so ! " said Viola, winding her arm ten-

Z ANON I. 39

derly round his neck, and under that heavenly light her
face seemed lovelier for its blushes. " For the enigmas
are but love's common language, and love should solve
them. Till I knew thee — till I lived with tkee — till I
learned to watch for thy footstep when absent — yet even
in absence to see thee everywhere ! — I dreamed not how
strong and all-pervading is the connection between nature
and the human soul !

"And yet," she continued, "I am now assured of what
I at first believed — that the feelings which attracted me
towards thee at first were not those of love. I know that,
by comparing the Present with the Past, — it was a senti-
ment then wholly of the mind or the spirit ! I could not
hear thee now say, ' Viola, be happy with another ! ' " ^

"And I could not now tell thee so ! Ah, Yiola ! never
be weary of assuring me that thou art happy ! "

" Happy, while thou art so. Yet, at times, Zanoni,
thou art so sad ! "

" Because human life is so short ; because we must paft
at last ; because yon moon shines on when the nightingale
sings to it no more ! A little while, and thine eyes will
grow dim, and thy beauty haggard, and these locks that
I toy with now will be grey and loveless."

"And thou, cruel one ! " said Yiola, touchingly, " I
shall never see the signs of age in thee ! But shall we
not grow old together, and our eyes be accustomed to a
change which the heart shall not share ! "

Zanoni sighed ! He turned away, and seemed to com-
mune with himself.

40 ZANONI.

Glyndon's attention grew yet more earnest.

" But were it so," muttered Zanoni ; and then looking
steadfastly at Yiola, he said, with a half-smile, " Hast
thou no curiosity to learn more of the Lover thou once
couldst believe the agent of the Evil One ?"

" None ; all that one wishes to know of the beloved
one, I know, — that thou lovest me/"

"I have told thee that my life is apart from others.
Wouldst thou not seek to share it?"

"I share it now ! "

" But were it possible to be thus young and fair for
ever, till the world blazes round us as one funeral pyre ! "

" We shall be so when we leave the world 1 "

Zanoni was mute for some moments, and at length he
said —

" Canst thou recall those brilliant and aerial dreams
which once visited thee, when thou didst fancy that thou
wert pre-ordained to some fate aloof and afar from the
common children of the earth ? "

'^ Zanoni, the fate is found."

''And hast thou no terror of the future ? "

" The future ! I forget it ! Time past, and present,
and to come, reposes in thy smile. Ah ! Zanoni, play
not with the foolish credulities of my youth I I have
been better and humbler since thy presence has dispelled
the mist of the air. The Future ! — well, when I have
cause to dread it, I will look up to heaven ; and remember
who guides our fate ! "

Z A N 0 N 1 . 41

As she lifted her eyes above, a dark cloud swept sud-
denly over the scene. It wrapt the orange-trees, the
azure ocean, the dense sands ; but still the last images
that it veiled from the charmed eyes of Glyndon were the
forms of Viola and Zaaoni. The face of the one rapt,
serene, and radiant ; the face of the other, dark, thoughtful,
and locked in more than its usual rigidness of melancholy
beauty and profound repose.

"Rouse thyself," said Mejnour, "thy ordeal has com-
menced ! There are pretenders to the solemn science,
who could have shown thee the absent ; and prated to
thee, in their charlatanic jargon, of the secret electricities
and the magnetic fluid, of whose true properties they
know but the germs and elements. I will lend thee the
books of those glorious dupes, and thou wilt find, in the
dark ages, how many erring steps have stumbled upon
the threshold of the mighty learning, and fancied they
had pierced the temple. Hermes, and Albert, and Para-
celsus, I knew ye all : but, noble as ye were, ye were
fated to be deceived. Ye had not souls of faith and
daring, fitted for the destinies at which ye aimed ! Yet
Paracelsus — modest Paracelsus — had an arrogance that
soared higher than all our knowledge. Ho ! ho ! — he
thought he could make a race of men from chemistry ;
he arrogated to himself the Divine gift — the breath of
life.* He would have made men, and, after all, confessed
that they could be but pigmies ! My art is to make men
above mankind. But you are impatient of my digressions.

■^Paracelsus, De Nat. Rer., lib. i.
4 *

42 Z A N 0 N I .

Forgive me. All these men (they were great dreamers^
as you desire to be) were intimate friends )f mine. But
they are dead and rotten. They talked of spirits — but
they dreaded to be in other company than that of men.
Like orators whom I have heard, when I stood by the
Pynx of Athens, blazing with words like comets in the
assembly, and extinguishing their ardor like holiday rockets
when they were in the field. Ho ! ho ! Demosthenes, my
hero-coward, how nimble were ihy heels at Chaeronea !
And thou art impatient still ! Boy, I could tell thee
such truths of the Past, as would make thee the luminary
of schools. But thou lustest only for the shadows of the
Future. Thou shalt have thy wish. But the mind must
be first exercised and trained. Go to thy room, and sleep :
fast austerely ; read no books ; meditate, imagine, dream,
bewilder thyself, if thou wilt. Thought shapes out its
own chaos at last. Before midnight, seek me again ! "

ZANONI. 84

CHAPTER lY.

It is fit that we who endeavor to rise to an elevation so sublime,
should study first to leave behind carnal aflfections, the frailty of
the senses, the passions that belong to matter ; secondly, to learn
by what means we may ascend to the climax of pure intellect,
united with the powers above, without which never can we gain
the lore of secret things, nor the magic that efi'ects true wonders.
— Tritemius on Secret Things and Secret Spirits.

It wanted still many minutes of midnight, and Glyndon
was once more in the apartment of the mystic. He had
rigidly observed the fast ordained to him ; and in the
rapt and intense reveries into which his excited fancy had
plunged him, he was not only insensible to the wants of
the flesh — he felt above them.

Mejnour, seated beside his disciple, thus addressed
him : —

" Man is arrogant in proportion to his ignorance. Man's
natural tendency is to egotism. Man in his infancy of
knowledge, thinks that all creation was formed for him.
For several ages he saw in the countless worlds, that
sparkle through space like the bubbles of a shoreless
ocean, only the petty candles, the household torches, that
Providence had been pleased to light for no other purpose
but to make the night more agreeable to man. Astronomy
has corrected this delusion of human vanity : and man
now reluctantly confesses that the stars are worlds larger
and more glorious than his own, — that the earth on which

44 ZANONT.

he crawls is a scarce visible speck on the vast chart of
creation. But in the small as in the vast, God is equally
profuse of life. The traveller looks upon the tree, and
fancies its boughs were formed for his shelter in the sum-
mer sun, or his fuel in the winter frosts. But in each leaf
of these boughs the Creator has made a world ; it swarms
with innumerable races. Each drop of the water in yon
moat is an orb more populous than a kingdom is of men.
Everywhere, then, in this immense Design, Science brings
new life to light. Life is the one pervading principle, and
even the thing that seems to die and putrefy, but engenders
new life, and changes to fresh forms of matter. Reasoning
then, by evident analogy — if not a leaf, if not a drop of
water, but is, no less than yonder star, a habitable and
breathing world — nay, if even man himself is a world to
other lives, and millions and myriads dwell in the rivers
of his blood, and inhabit man's frame as man inhabits
earth, common sense (if your schoolmen had it) would
suffice to teach that the circumfluent infinite which you
call space — the boundless Impalpable which divides earth
from the moon and stars — is filled also with its corres-
pondent and appropriate life. Is it not a visible absurdity
to suppose that Being is crowded upon every leaf, and yet
absent from the immensities of space ? The law of the
Great System forbids the waste even of an atom ; it knows
no spot where something of life does not breathe. In
the very charnel-house is the nursery of production and
animation. Is that true ? Well, then, can you conceive
that space, which is the Infinite itself, is alone a waste, is

Z A N 0 N 1 . 45

alone lifeless, is less useful to the one design of universal
being than the dead carcase of a dog, than the peopled
leaf, than the swarming globule ? The microscope shows
you the creatures on the leaf; no mechanical tube is yet
invented to discover the nobler and more gifted things
that hover in the illimitable air. Yet between these last
and man is a mysterious and terrible affinity. And hence,
by tales and legends, not wholly false nor wholly true,
have arisen from time to time, beliefs in apparitions and
spectres. If more common to the earlier and simpler
tribes than to the men of your duller age, it is but that,
with the first, the senses are more keen and quick. And
as the savage can see or scent, miles away, the traces of
a foe, invisible to the gross sense of the civilized animal,
so the barrier itself between him and the creatures of the
airy world is less thickened and obscured. Do you listen ? "

" With my soul ! " "

" But first, to penetrate this barrier, the soul with which
you listen must be sharpened by intense enthusiasm, puri-
fied from all earthlier desires. iN'ot without reason have
the so-styled magicians, in all lands and times, insisted
on chastity and abstemious reverie as the communicants
of inspiration. When thus prepared, science can be
brought to aid it ; the sight itself may be rendered more
subtle, the nerves more acute, the spirit more alive and
outward, and the element itself — the air, the space —
may be made, by certain secrets of the higher chemistry,
more palpable and clear. And this, too, is not magic,
as the credulous call it ; — as I have so often said before,

46 ZANONI.

magic (or science that violates Nature) exists not ; — it is
but the science by which Nature can be controlled. Now,
in space there are millions of beings, not literally spiritual,
for they have all, like the animalculae unseen by the naked
eye, certain forms of matter, though matter so delicate,
air-drawn, and subtle, that it is, as it were, but a film, a
gossamer that clothes the spirit. Hence the Rosicrucian's
lovely phantoms of sylph and gnome. Yet, in truth, these
races and tribes differ more widely, each from each, than
the Calmuck from the Greek — differ in attributes and
powers. In the drop of water you see how the animalculae
vary, how vast and terrible are some of those monster
mites as compared with others. Equally so with the In-
habitants of the atmosphere : some of surpassing wisdom,
some of horrible malignity ; some hostile as fiends to men,
others gentle as messengers between earth and heaven.
He who would establish intercourse with these varying
beings, resembles the traveller who would penetrate into
unknown lands. He is exposed to strange dangers and
unconjectured terrors. That intercourse once gained, 1
cannot secure thee from, the chances to which thy journey
is exposed. I cannot direct thee to paths free from the
wanderings of the deadliest foes. Thou must alone, and
of thyself, face and hazard all. But if thou art so enamored
of life, as to care only to live on, no matter for what ends,
recruiting the nerves and veins with the alchemist's vivi-
fying elixir, why seek these dangers from the intermediate
tribes ? Because the very elixir that pours a more glorious
life into the frame, so sharpens the senses that those larvas

ZANONI. 4t

of the air become to thee audible and apparent ; so that,
unless trained by degrees to endure the phantoms and
subdue their malice, a life thus gifted would be the most
awful doom man could bring upon himself. Hence it is,
that though the elixir be compounded of the simplest
herbs, his frame only is prepared to receive it who has
gone through the subtlest trials. Xay, some, scared and
daunted into the most intolerable horror by the sights that
burst upon their eyes at the first draught, have found the
potion less powerful to save than the agony and travail
of Nature to destroy. To the unprepared, the elixir is
thus but the deadliest poison. Amidst the dwellers of
the threshold is ONE, too, surpassing in malignity and
hatred all her tribe — one whose eyes have paralyzed the
bravest, and whose power increases over the spirit pre-
cisely in proportion to its fear. Does thy courage falter ? "

"Nay; thy words but kindle it."

" Follow me, then ; and submit to the initiatory labors."

With that, Mejnour led him into the interior chamber,
and proceeded to explain to him certain chemical opera-
tions, which, though extremely simple in themselves,
Glyndon soon perceived were capable of very extraor-
dinary results.

"In the remoter times," said Mejnour, smiling, "our
brotherhood were often compelled to recur to delusions
to protect realities ; and, as dexterous mechanicians or
expert chemists, they obtained the name of sorcerers.
Observe how easy to construct is the Spectre Lion that
attended the renowned Leonardo da Yinci ! "

48 Z AN ON I.

And Glyndon beheld with delighted surprise the simple
means by ^yhich the wildest cheats of the imagination can
be formed. The magical landscapes in which Baptista
Porta rejoiced ; the apparent change of the seasons with
which Albertus Magnus startled the earl of Holland ; nay,
even those more dread delusions of the Ghost and Image
with which the Necromancers of Heraclea woke the con-
science of the conqueror of Plataea* — all these, as the
showman enchants some trembling children on a Christmas
Eve, with his lantern and phantasmagoria, Mejnour ex-
hibited to his pupil.

^ * * ^ ^ *

"And now laugh for ever at magic ! when these, the
very tricks, the very sports and frivolities of science, were
the very acts which men viewed with abhorrence ; and
Inquisitors and Kings rewarded with the rack and the
stake."

''But the Alchemist's transmutation of metals "

" Nature herself is a laboratory in which metals, and
all elements, are for ever at change. Easy to make gold,
— easier, and more commodious, and cheaper still, to make
the pearl, the diamond, and the ruby. Oh, yes ; wise
men found sorcery in this, too ; but they found no sorcery
in the discovery, that by the simplest combination of things
of every-day use they could raise a devil that would sweep
away thousands of their kind by the breath of consuming
fire. Discover what will destroy life, and you are a great
man ! — what will prolong it, and you are an impostor !

* Pausanias — see Plutarch.

ZANONI. 49

— Discover some invention in machinery that will make
the rich more rich and the poor more poor, and they will
build you a statue ! Discover some mystery in art, that
will equalize physical disparities, and they will pull down
their own houses to stone you I Ha, ha, my pupil ! such
is the world Zanoni still cares for ! you and I will leave
this world to itself. And now that you have seen some
few of the effects of science, begin to learn its grammar."
Mejnour then set before his pupil certain tasks, in which
the rest of the night wore itself away.

CHAPTER Y.

Great travell hath the gentle Calidore

And toyle endured * * *

There on a day —

He chaunst to spy a sort of shepheard groomes,

Playing on pipes and caroling apace.

* * * He, there, besyde

Saw a faire damzell.

Spensek, Faerie Queejie, cant. ix.

Foil a considerable period the pupil of Mejnour was
now absorbed in labor dependent on the most vigilant
attention, on the most minute and subtle calculation.
Results astonishing and various rewarded his toils and
stimulated his interest. Nor were these studies limited
to chemical discovery — iu which it is permitted me to
say that the greatest marvels upon the organization of
physical life seemed wrought by experiments of the vivi-

IL — 5 D

50 Z AN ONI.

fying influence of Heat. Mejnour professed to find a link
between all intellectual beings in the existence of a certain
all-pervading and invisible fluid resembling electricity,
yet distinct from the known operations of that mysterious
agency — a fluid that connected thought to thought with
the rapidity and precision of the modern telegraph, and
the influence of this influence, according to Mejnour,
extended to the remotest past — that is to say, whenever
and wheresoever man had thought. Thus, if the doctrine
were true, all human knowledge became attainable through
a medium established between the brain of the individual
inquirer and all the farthest and obscurest regions in the
universe of ideas. Glyndon was surprised to find Mejnour
attached to the abstruse mysteries which the Pythagoreans
ascribed to the occult science of Numbers. In this last,
new lights glimmered dimly on his eyes ; and he began
to perceive that even the power to predict, or rather to
calculate, results, might by *

But he observed that the last brief process by which, in
each of these experiments, the wonder was achieved,
Mejnour reserved for himself, and refused to communicate
the secret. The answer he obtained to his remonstrances
on this head was more stern than satisfactory : —

"Dost thou think," said Mejnour, "that I would give
to the mere pupil, whose qualities are not yet tried, powers'
that might change the face of the social w^orld ? The last
secrets are intrusted only to him of whose virtue the Master

^- Here there is au erasure in the MS.

Z AN ONI. 51

is convinced. Patience ! It is labor itself that is the
great purifier of the mind ; and by degrees the secrets will
grow upon thyself as thy mind becomes riper to receive
them."

At last, Mejnour professed himself satisfied with the
progress made by his pupil. " The hour now arrives,"
he said, " when thou mayst pass the great but airy barrier,
— when thou mayst gradually confront the terrible Dweller
of the Threshold. Continue thy labors — continue to
suppress thine impatience for results until thou canst
fathom the causes. I leave thee for one month ; if, at the
end of that period, when I return, the tasks set thee are
completed, and thy mind prepared by contemplation and
austere thought for the ordeal, I promise thee the ordeal
shall commence. One caution alone I give thee : regard
it as a peremptory command — Enter not this chamber ! "
(They were then standing in the room where their exper-
iments had been chiefly made, and in which Glyndon, on
the night he had sought the solitude of the Mystic, had
nearly fallen a victim to his intrusion.)

"Enter not this chamber till my return ; or, above all,
if by any search for materials necessary to thy toils, thou
shouldst venture hither, forbear to light the naphtha in
those vessels, and to open the vases on yonder shelves.
I leave the key of the room in thy keeping, in order to
try thy abstinence and self-control. Young man, this
very temptation is a part of thy trial."

With that, Mejnour placed the key in his hands ; and at
sunset he left the castle.

52 ZANONI.

For several days Glyndon continued immersed in em-
ployments which strained to the utmost alLthe faculties
of his intellect. Even the most partial success depended
so entirely on the abstraction of the mind, and the minute-
ness of its calculations, that there was scarcely room for
any other thought than those absorbed in the occupation.
And doubtless this perpetual strain of the faculties was
the object of Mejnour in works that did not seem exactly
pertinent to the purposes in view. As the study of the
elementary mathematics, for example, is not so profitable
in the solving of problems, unless in our after-callings, as
it is serviceable in training the intellect to the compre-
hension and analysis of general truths.

But in less than half the time which Mejnour had stated
for the duration of his absence, all that the Mystic had
appointed to his toils was completed by the pupil ; and
then his mind, thus relieved from the drudgery and me-
chanism of employment, once more sought occupation in
dim conjecture and restless fancies. His inquisitive and
rash nature grew excited by the prohibition of Mejnour,
and he found himself gazing too often, with perturbed
and daring curiosity, upon the key of the forbidden cham-
ber. He began to feel indignant at a trial of constancy"
which he deemed frivolous and puerile. What nursery
tales of Bluebeard and his closet were revived to daunt
and terrify him ! How could the mere walls of a chamber
in which he had so often securely pursued his labors, start
into living danger ? If haunted, it could be but by those
delusions which Mejnour had taught him to despise. A

Z AN ONI. 53

shadowy lion — a chemical phantasm! Tush! he lost
half his awe of Mejnour, when he thought that by such
tricks the sage could practise upon the very intellect he
had awakened and instructed ! Still he resisted the im-
pulses of his curiosity and his pride, and, to escape from
their dictation, he took long rambles on the hills or amidst
the valleys that surrounded the castle ; — seeking by bodily
fatigue to subdue the unreposing mind. One day sud-
denly emerging from a dark ravine, he came upon one of
those Italian scenes of rural festivity and mirth in which
the classic age appears to revive. It was a festival, partly
agricultural, partly religious, held yearly by the peasants
of that district. Assembled at the outskirts of a village,
animated crowds, just returned from a procession to a
neighboring chapel, were now forming themselves into
groups — the old to taste the vintage, the young to dance
— all to be gay and happy. This sudden picture of easy
joy, and careless ignorance, contrasting so forcibly with
the intense studies and that parching desire for wisdom
which had so long made up his own life, and burned at
his own heart, sensibly affected Glyndon. As he stood
aloof and gazing on them, the young man felt once more
that he was young ! The memory of all he had been
content to sacrifice spoke to him like the sharp voice of
remorse. The flitting forms of the women in their pictur-
esque attire, their happy laughter ringing through the
cool, still air of the autumn noon, brought back to the
heart, or rather perhaps to the senses, the images of his
5*

54 ZANONI.

past time, the " golden shepherd hours," when to live was
but to enjoy.

He approached nearer to the scene, and suddenly a
noisy group swept round hira ; and Maestro Paola, tap-
ping him familiarly on the shoulder, exclaimed, in a hearty
voice, " Welcome, Excellency ! — we are rejoiced to see
you amongst us." Glyndon was about to reply to this
salutation, when his eyes rested upon the face of a young
girl leaning on Paolo's arm, of a beauty so attractive, that
his color rose and his heart beat as he encountered her
gaze. Her eyes sparkled with a roguish and petulant
mirth-, her parted lips showed teeth like pearls, — as if im-
patient at the pause of her companion from the revel of
the rest, her little foot beat the ground to a measure that
she half-hummed, half-chanted. Paolo laughed as he saw
the eflect the girl had produced upon the young foreigner.

" Will you not dance. Excellency ? Come, lay aside
your greatness, and be merry, like us poor devils. See
how our pretty Fillide is longing for a partner. Take
compassion on her,"

Fillide pouted at this speech ; and disengaging her arm
from Paolo's, turned away, but threw over her shoulder
a glance half inviting, half defying. Glyndon, almost
involuntarily, advanced to her, and addressed her.

Oh yes, he addresses her ! She looks down, and smiles.
Paolo leaves them to themselves, sauntering off with a
devil-me-carish air. Fillide speaks now, and looks up at
the scholar's face with arch invitation. He shakes his
bead ; Fillide laughs, and her laugh is silvery. She

Z A N 0 N 1 . 55

points to a gay mountaineer, who is tripping up to her
merrily. "Why does Glyudou feel jealous ? Why, when
she speaks again, does he shake his head no more ? He
offers his hand ; Fillide blushes, and takes it with a demure
coquetry. What ! is it so, indeed ! They whirl into the
noisy circle of the revellers. Ha ! ha ! is not this better
than distilling herbs, and breaking thy brains on Pytha-
gorean numbers ? How lightly Fillide bounds along !
How her lithesome waist supples itself to thy circling
arm ! Tara-ra-tara, ta-tara, rara-ra ! What the devil is
in the measure, that it makes the blood course like quick-
silver through the veins ? Was there ever a pair- of eyes
like Fillide's ? ]S'othing of the cold stars there ! Yet how
they twinkle and laugh at thee I And that rosy, pursed-
up mouth, that will answer so sparingly to thy flatteries,
as if words were a waste of time, and kisses were their
proper language. Oh, pupil of Mejnour ! oh, would-be
Rosicrucian — Platonist — Magian — I know not what !
I am ashamed of thee ! What, in the names of Averroes,
and Burri, and Agrippa, and Hermes, have become of thy
austere contemplations ? Was it for this thou didst re-
sign Yiola ? I don't think thou hast the smallest recol-
lection of the elixir or the Cabala. Take care ! What
are you about, sir ? Why do you clasp that small hand
locked in your own ? Why do you — Tara-rara,tara-ra,
tara-rara-ra, rara-ra, ta-ra a-ra! Keep your eyes off those
slender ankles, and that crimson boddice ! Tara-rara-ra !
There they go again I And now they rest under the broad
trees. The revel has whirled away from them. They

56 ZANONI.

hear — or do tliey not hear — the laughter at the dis-
tance ? They see — or if they have their eyes about them,
they should see — couple after couple gliding by, love-
taking and love-looking. But I will lay a wager, as
they sit under that tree, and the round sun goes down
behind the mountains, that they see or hear very little
except themselves !

"Hollo, Signor Excellency! and how does your part-
ner please you ? Come and join our feast, loiterers ; one
dances more merrily after wine."

Down goes the round sun ; up comes the autumn moon.
Tara, tara, rarara, tarara-ra ! Dancing again ; is it a
dance, or some movement gayer, noisier, wilder still ?
How they glance and gleam through the night shadows
— those flitting forms ! What confusion ! — what order I
Ha, that is the Tarantula dance ; Maestro Paolo foots it
bravely ! Diavolo, what fury ! the Tarantula has stung
them all. Dance or die ; it is fury — the Corybantes — the

Maenads — the . Ho, ho ; more wine! the Sabbat

of the Witches at Benetento is a joke to this ! From
cloud to cloud wanders the moon — now shining, now
lost. Dimness while the maiden blushes ; light when the
maiden smiles.

"Fillide, thou art an enchantress!"

" Buona notte, Excellency ; you will see me again ! "

"Ah, young man," said an old decrepit, hollow-eyed
octogenarian, leaning on his staff, " make the best of your
youth. I, too, once had a Fillide ! I was handsomer than
you then ! Alas ! if we could be always young ! "

Z A NO NT. 51

"Always young!" Glyndon started, as he turned his
gaze from the fresh fair rosy face of the girl, and saw the
eyes dropping rheum — the yellow wrinkled skin — the
tottering frame of the old man.

"Ha, ha ! " said the decrepit creature, hobbling near to
him, and with a malicious laugh. "Yet I, too, was
young once ! Give me a baioccho for a glass of acqua
vita ! "

" Tara, rara, ra-rara, tara, rara-ra ! There dances
Youth ! Wrap thy rags round thee, and totter off, Old
Age!"

CHAPTER YI.

Whilest Calidore does follow that faire mayd,
Unmindful of his vows and high beheast
Which by the Faerie Queene was on him layd.

Spenser, Faerie Queene, cant. x. s. 1.

It was that grey, indistinct, struggling interval between
the night and the dawn, when Clarence stood once more
in his chamber. The abstruse calculations lying on his
table caught his eye, and filled him with a sentiment of
weariness and distaste. But — "Alas, if we could be
always young ! Oh, thou horrid spectre of the old
rheum-eyed man ! What apparition can the mystic cham-
ber shadow forth more ugly or more hateful than thou ?
Oh yes ; if we could be always young ! But not (thinks

58 ZANONI.

the Neophyte now) — not to labor for ever at these crabbed
figures and these cold compounds of herbs and drugs.
No; but to enjoy, to love, to revel! What should be
the companions of youth but pleasure? — And the gift
of eternal youth may be mine this very hour ! What
means this prohibition of Mejnour's ? Is it not of the
same complexion as his ungenerous reserve even in the
minutest secrets of chemistry, or the numbers of his
Cabala? — compelling me to perform all the toils, and
yet withholding from me the knowledge of the crowning
result? No doubt he will, on his return, show me that
the great mystery can be attained ; but will still forbid me
^to attain it. Is it not as if he desired to keep my youth the
slave to his age ? — to make me dependent solely on him-
self?— to bind me to a journeyman's service by perpetual
excitement to curiosity, and the sight of the fruits he
places beyond my lips ? " These, and many reflections
still more repining, disturbed and irritated him. Heated
with wine — excited by the wild revels he had left — he
was unable to sleep. The image of that revolting Old
Age which Time, unless defeated, must bring upon him-
self, quickened the eagerness of his desire for the dazzling
and imperishable Youth he ascribed to Zanoni. The
prohibition only served to create a spirit of defiance.
The reviving day, laughing jocundly through his lattice,
dispelled all the fears and superstitions that belong to
night. The mystic chamber presented to his imagination
nothing to differ from any other apartment in the castle.
What foul or malignant apparition could harm him in the

Z AN ON I. 59

light of that blessed sun ! It was the peculiar, and on
the whole most unhappy, contradiction in Glyndon's na-
ture, that while his reasonings led him to doubt — and
doubt rendered him in moral conduct irresolute and un-
steady— he was physically brave to rashness. Nor is
this uncommon : skepticism and presumption are often
twins. When a man of this character determines on any
action, personal fear never deters him ; and for the moral
fear, any sophistry suffices to self-will. Almost without
analyzing himself the mental process by which his nerves
hardened themselves and his limbs moved, he traversed
the corridor, gained Meinour's apartment, and opened the
forbidden door. All was as he had been accostomed to
see it, save that on a table in the centre of the room lay
open a large volume. He approached, and gazed on the
characters on the page; they were in a cipher, the study
of which had made a part of his labors. With but slight
difficulty he imagined that he interpreted the meaning of
the first sentences, and that they ran thus : —

" To quaff the inner life, is to see the outer life : to live
in defiance of time, is to live in the whole. He wlio dis-
covers the elixir, discovers what lies in space ; for the
spirit that vivifies the frame strengthens the senses.
There is attraction in the elementary principle of light.
In the lamps of Rosicrucius, the fire is the pure elemen-
tary principle. Kindle the lamps while thou openest the
vessel that contains the elixir, and the light attracts to-
wards thee those beings whose life is that light. Beware
of Fear. Fear is the deadliest enemy to Knowledge."

60 Z AN ON I.

Here the ciphers changed their character, and became
incomprehensible. But had he not read enough? Did
not the last sentence suffice? — "Beware of Fear!" It
was as if Mejnour had purposely left the page open — as
if the trial was, in truth, the reverse of the one pretended

as if the Mystic had designed to make experiment of

his courage while affecting but that of his forbearance.
Not Boldness, but Fear, was the deadliest enemy to
Knowledge. He moved to the shelves on which the
crystal vases were placed ; with an untrembling hand he
took from one of them the stopper, and a delicious odor
suddenly diffused itself through the room. The air
sparkled as if with a diamond dust. A sense of unearth-
ly delight — of an existence that seemed all spirit, flashed
through his whole frame ; and a faint, low, but exquisite
music crept, thrilling, through the chamber. At this
moment he heard a voice in the corridor, calling on his
name ; and presently there was a knock on the door
without. "Are you there, Signer?" said the clear tones
of Maestro Paolo. Glyndon hastily reclosed and re-
placed the vial ; and bidding Pc4olo await him in his own
apartment, tarried till he heard the intruder's steps de-
part ; he then reluctantly quitted the room. As he locked
the door, he still heard the dying strain of that fairy mu-
sic ; and with a light step, and a joyous heart, he repair-
ed to Paolo, inly resolving to visit again the chamber at
an hour when his experiment would be safe from inter-
ruption.

As he crossed his threshold, Paolo started back, and

Z AN ON I. t)l

exclaimed, " Why, Excellency ! I scarcely recognize you I
Amusement I see is a great beautifier to the young.
Yesterday you looked so pale and haggard ; but Fillide's
merry eyes have done more for you than the philosopher's
stone (Saints, forgive me for naming it) ever did for the
wizards." And Glyndon, glancing at the old Venetian
mirror, as Paolo spoke, was scarcely less startled than
Paolo himself at the change in his own mien and bearing.
His form, before bent with thought, seemed to him taller
by half the head, so lithesome and erect rose his slender
stature ; his eyes glowed, his cheeks bloomed with health
and the innate and pervading pleasure. If the mere
fragrance of the elixir was thus potent, well might the
alchemists have ascribed life and youth to the draught !

" You must forgive me. Excellency, for disturbing you,"
said Paolo, producing a letter from his pouch ; " but our
Patron has just written to me to say that he will be here
to-morrow, and desired me to lose not a moment in giving
to yourself this billet, which he inclosed."

''Who brought the letter?"

"A horseman, who did not wait for any reply."

Glyndon opened the letter, and read as follows : —

" I return a week sooner than I had intended, and you
will expect me to-morrow. You will then enter on the
ordeal you desire ; but remember that, in doing so, you
must reduce Being as far as possible into Mind. The
senses must be mortified and subdued — not the whisper
of one passion heard. Thou mayst be master of the Ca-
ll —6

62 Z AN ON I.

bala and the Chemistry ; but thou must be master also
over the Flesh and the Blood — over Love and Yanity,
Ambition and Hate. I will trust to find thee so. Fast
and meditate till we meet ! "

Glyndon crumpled the letter in his hand with a smile
of disdain. What! more drudgery — more abstinence!
Youth without love and pleasure ! Ha, ha ! baffled Mej-
nour, thy pupil shall gain thy secrets without thine aid !

"And Fillide ! I passed her cottage in my way — she
blushed and sighed when I jested her about you, Excel-
lency ! "

" Well, Paolo ! I thank thee for so charming an intro-
duction. Thine must be a rare life."

"Ah, Excellency, while we are young, nothing like
adventure — except love, wine, and laughter ! "

" Yery true. Farewell, Maestro Pc4olo ; we will talk
more with each other in a few days."

All that morning Glyndon was almost overpowered
with the new sentiment of happiness that had entered into
him. He roamed into the woods, and he felt a pleasure
that resembled his earlier life of an artist, but a pleasure
yet more subtle and vivid, in the various colors of the
autumn foliage. Certainly, Nature seemed to be brought
closer to him ; he comprehended better all that Mejnour
had often preached to him of the mystery of sympathies
and attractions. He was about to enter into the same
law as those mute children of the forests ! He was to
know the renewal of life; the seasons that chilled to

ZANONI. 63

winter should yet bring again the bloom and the mirth of
spring. Man's common existence is as one year to the.
vegetable world : he has his spring, his summer, his autumn,
and winter — but only once. But the giant oaks round
him go through a revolving series of verdure and youth,
and the green of the centenarian is as vivid in the beams
of May as that of the sapling by its side. "Mine shall
be your spring, but not your winter ! " exclaimed the as-
pirant.

Wrapt in these sanguine and joyous reveries, Glyndon,
quitting the woods, found himself amidst cultivated fields
and vineyards to which his footstep had not before wan-
dered : and there stood, by the skirts of a green lane that
reminded him of verdant England, a modest house — half
cottage half farm. The door was open, and he saw a girl at
work with her distaff. She looked up, uttered a slight cry,
and, tripping gaily into the lane to his side, he recognized
the dark-eyed Fillide.

*' Hist ! " she said, archly putting her finger to her lip ;
" do not speak loud — my mother is asleep within ; and I
knew you would come to see me. It is kind ! "

Glyndon with a little embarrassment, accepted the com-
pliment to his kindness, which he did not exactly deserve.
*' You have thought, then, of me, fair Fillide ? "

" Yes," answered the girl, coloring, but with that frank,
bold ingenuousness which characterizes the females of
Italy, especially of the lower class, and in the southern
provinces — "Oh, yes! I have thought of little else.
Paolo saM he knew you would visit me."

64 Z A N 0 N I .

" And what relation is Paolo to you ? "

" IS'one : but a good friend to us all. My brother is
one of his band."

" One of his band ! — A robber ? "

" We, of the mountains, do not call a mountaineer ' a
robber,' signor."

" I ask pardon. Do you not tremble sometimes for
your brother's life? The law "

" Law never ventures into these defiles. Tremble for
him ! No. My father and grandsire were of the same
calling. I often wish I were a man ! "

" By these lips, I am enchanted that your wish cannot
be realized."

" Fie, signor ! And do you really love me ? "

" "With my whole heart ! "

"And I thee I " said the girl, with a candor that seemed
innocent, as she suffered him to clasp her hand.

"But," she added, "thou wilt soon leave us: and I
" She stopped short, and the tears stood in her eyes.

There was something dangerous in this, it must be con-
fessed. Certainly Fillide had not the seraphic loveliness
of Yiola ; but hers was a beauty that equally, at least,
touched, the senses. Perhaps Glyndon had never really
loved Yiola ; perhaps the feelings with which she had in-
spired him were not of that ardent character which deserves
the name of love. However that be, he thought, as he gazed
on those dark eyes, that he had never loved before,

"And couldst thou not leave thy mountains ? '^ he whis-
pered, as he drew yet nearer to her.

Z A N 0 N 1 . 65

" Dost thou ask me ? " she said, retreating, and looking
him steadfastly in the face. *' Dost thou know what we
daughters of the mountains are ? You say, smooth cava-
liers of cities seldom mean what you speak. With you,
love is amusement ; with us, it is life. Leave these moun-
tains ! Well ! I should not leave my nature."

"Keep thy nature ever — it is a sweet one."

" Yes, sweet while thou art true ; stern if thou art
faithless. Shall I tell thee \vhat I — what the girls of
this country, are ? Daughters of men, whom you call
robbers, we aspire to be the companions of our lovers or
our husbands. We love ardently, we own it boldly. We
stand by your side in danger ; we serve you as slaves in
safety : we never change, and we resent change. You
may reproach, strike us, trample us as a dog, — we bear
all without a murmur ; betray us, and no tiger is more
relentless. Be true, and our hearts reward you ; be false,
and our hands revenge ! — Dost thou love me now ?"

During this speech, the Italian's countenance had most
eloquently aided her words — by turns soft, frank, fierce,
— and, at the last question, she inclined her head humbly,
and stood, as in fear of his reply, before him. The stern,
brave, wild spirit, in which what seemed unfeminine was
yet, if I may so say, still womanly, did n"ot recoil, it rather
captivated Glyndon. He answered readily, briefly, and
freely — " Fillide — yes ! "

Oh, " yes ! " forsooth, Clarence Glyndon ! Every light
nature answers " yes " lightly to such a question from lips
so rosy ! Have a care — have a care ! Why the deuce,
G* E

66 Z AN ONI.

Mejnour, do you leave your pupil of four-and-twenty to
the mercy of these wild cats-a-mountain ! Preach fast,
and abstinence, the sublime renunciation of the cheats of
the senses ! Yery well in you, sir. Heaven knows how
many ages old ! but at four-and-twenty, your Hierophant
would have kept you out of Fillide's way, or you would
have had small taste for the Cabala !

And so they stood, and talked, and vowed, and whis-
pered, till the girl's mother made some noise within the
house, and Fillide bounded back to the distaff, her finger
once more on her lip.

" There is more magic in Fillide than in Mejnour," said
Glyndon to himself, walking gaily home ; "yet, on second
thoughts, I know not if I quite so well like a character
so ready for revenge ! But he who has the real secret
can baffle even the vengeance of a woman, and disarm all
danger I"

Sirrah I dost thou even already meditate the possibility
of treason ? Oh, well said Zanoni, "to pour pure water
into the muddy well does but disturb the mud."

Z AN ON I. 6T

CHAPTER yil.

Cei'nis, custodia qualis

"Vestibulo sedeat ? facies quoe limina servet? *

^NEiD, lib. vi. 475.

And it is profound night All is at rest within the old
castle — all is breathless under the melancholy stars. Now
is the time. Mejnour with his austere wisdom — Mejnour,
the enemy to love — Mejnour, whose eye will read thy
heart, and refuse thee the promised secrets, because the
sunny face of Fillide disturbs the lifeless shadow that he
calls repose. Mejnour comes to-morrow ! Seize the
night ! Beware of fear ! Never, or this hour I So,
brave youth, — brave despite all thy errors — so, with a
steady pulse, thy hand unlocks once more the forbidden
door !

He placed his lamp on the table beside the book, which
still lay there opened ; he turned over the leaves, but
could not decipher their meaning, till he came to the
following passage : —

"When, then, the pupil is thus initiated and prepared,
let him open the casement, light the lamps, and bathe his
temples with the elixer. He must beware how he presume
yet to quaff the volatile and fiery spirit. To taste till

* See you, what porter sits withia the vestibule? — Avhat face
watches at the threshold ?

68 Z ANON I.

repeated inhalations have accustomed the frame gradually
to the ecstatic liquid, is to know not life, but death."

He could penetrate no farther into the instructions ;
the cipher again changed. He now looked steadily and
earnestly round the chamber. The moon-light came
quietly through the lattice as his hand opened it, and
seemed, as it rested on the floor and filled the walls, like
the presence of some ghostly and mournful Power. He
ranged the mystic lamps (nine in number) round the cen-
tre of the room, and lighted them one by one. A flame
of silvery and azure tints sprung up from each, and lighted
the apartment with a calm and yet most dazzling splendor ;
but presently this light grew more soft and dim, as a thin
grey cloud, like a mist, gradually spread over the room ;
and an icy thrill shot through the heart of the English-
man, and quickly gathered over him like the coldness of
death. Instinctively aware of his danger, he tottered,
though with difficulty, for his limbs seemed rigid and
stone-like, to the shelf that contained the crystal vials ;
hastily he inhaled the spirit, and laved his temples with
the sparkling liquid. The same sensation of vigor and
youth, and joy, and airy lightness, that he had felt in the
morning, instantaneously replaced the deadly numbness
that just before had invaded the citadel of life. He stood,
with his arms folded on his bosom, erect and dauntless,
to watch what should ensue.

The vapor had now assumed almost the thickness and
seeming consistency of a snow-cloud ; the lamps piercing
it like stars. And now he distinctly saw shapes, somewhat

-' ZANONI. 69

resembling in outline those of the human form, gliding
slowly and with regular evolutions through the cloud.
They appeared bloodless ; their bodies were transparent,
and contracted or expanded, like the folds of a serpent.
As they moved in majestic order, he heard a low sound —
the ghost, as it were, of voice — which each caught and
echoed from the other ; a low sound, but musical, which
seemed the chant of some unspeakably tranquil joy. None
of these apparitions heeded him. His intense longing to
accost them, to be of them, to make one of this movement
of aerial happiness — for such it seemed to him — made him
stretch forth his arms and seek to cry aloud, but only an
inarticulate whisper passed his lips; and the movement
and the music went on the same as if the mortal were not
there. Slowly they glided round and aloft, till, in the
same majestic order, one after one, they floated through
the casement and were lost in the moonlight ; then, as his
eyes followed them, the casement became darkened with
some object undistinguishable at the first gaze, but which
sufficed mysteriously to change into ineffable horror the
delight he had before experienced. By degrees, this ob-
ject shaped itself to his sight. It was as that of a human
head, covered with a dark veil, through which glared with
livid and demoniac fire, eyes that froze the marrow of hig;;.
bones. Nothing else of the face was distinguishable — ■
nothing but those intolerable eyes ; but his terror, that
even at the first seemed beyond nature to endure, was in-
creased a thousand-fold, when, after a pause, the phantom
glided slowly into the chamber. The cloud retreated from

10 ZANONI. N

it as it advanced ; the bright lamps grew wan, and flick-
ered restlessly as at the breath of its presence. Its form
was veiled as the face, but the outline was that of a female ;
yet it moved not as move even the ghosts that simulate
the living. It seemed rather to crawl as some vast mis-
shapen reptile ; and pausing, at length it cowered beside
the table which held the mystic volume, and again fixed
its eyes through the filmy veil on the rash invoker. All
fancies, the most grotesque, of Monk or Painter in the
early North, would have failed to give to the visage of
imp or fiend that aspect of deadly malignity which spoke
to the shuddering nature in those eyes alone. All else so
dark — shrouded — veiled and larva-like. But that burning
glare so intense, so livid, yet so living, had in it something
that was almost human, in its passion of hate and mockery
— something that served to show that the shadowy Horror
was not all a spirit, but partook of matter enough, at
least, to make it more deadly and fearful an enemy to
material forms. As, clinging with the grasp of agony to
the wall — his hair erect — his eye-balls starting, he still
gazed back upon that appalling gaze — the Image spoke
to him — his soul rather than his ear comprehended the
words it said.

"Thou hast entered the immeasurable region. I am
the Dweller of the Threshold. What wouldst thou with
me? Silent? Dost thou fear me ? Am I not thy beloved ?
Is it not for me that thou hast rendered up the delights
of thy race ? Wouldst thou be wise ? Mine is the wisdom
of the countless ages. Kiss me, my mortal lover." And

ZANONI. tl

the Horror crawled near and nearer to him ; it crept to
his side, its breath breathed upon his cheek ! With a
sharp cry he fell to the earth insensible, and knew no more
till, far in the noon of the next day, he opened his eyes
and found himself in his bed, — the glorious sun streaming
through his lattice, and the bandit Paolo by iiis side,
engaged in polishing his carbine, and whistling a Calabrian
love-air.

CHAPTER YIII.

Thus man pursues his weary calling,
And wrings the hard life from the sky,

While happiness unseen is falling
Down from God's bosom silently.

Schiller.

In one of those islands whose history the imperishable
literature and renown of Athens yet invest with melan-
choly interest, and on which Nature, in whom " there is
nothing melancholy," still bestows a glory of scenery and
climate equally radiant for the freeman or the slave — the
Ionian, the Venetian, the Gaul, the Turk, or the restless
Briton, — Zanoni had fixed his bridal Home. There the
air carries with it the perfumes of the plains for miles
along the blue translucent deep.* Seen from one of its
green sloping heights, the island he had selected seemed
one delicious garden. The towers and turrets of its capital

* See Dr. Holland's Travels to the Ionian Isle?, &c., p, 18.

12 ZANONI.

gleaming amidst groves of oranges and lemons ; — vineyards
and olive-woods filling up the valleys, and clambering
along the hill-sides ; and villa, farm, and cottage covered
with luxuriant trellises of dark-green leaves and purple
fruit. For, there, the prodigal beauty yet seems half to
justify those graceful superstitions of a creed that, too
enamoured of earth, rather brought the deities to man,
than raised the man to their less alluring and less volup-
tuous Olympus.

And still to the fishermen, weaving yet their antique
dances on the sand — to the maiden adorning yet, with
many a silver fibula, her glossy tresses under the tree that
overshadows her tranquil cot — the same Great Mother
that watched over the wise of Samos — the deftiocracy of
Corcyra — the graceful and deep-taught loveliness of
Miletus — smiles as graciously as of yore. For the North,
philosophy and freedom are essentials to human happiness.
In the lands which Aphrodite rose from the waves to
govern, as the Seasons, hand in hand, stood to welcome
her on the shores,* Nature is all-su£Bcient.

The isle which Zanoni had selected was one of the love-
liest in that divine sea. His abode, at some distance from
the city, but near one of the creeks on the shore, belonged
to a Yenetian, and though small, had more of elegance
than the natives ordinarily cared for. On the seas, and
in sight, rode his vessel. His Indians, as before, minis-
tered in mute gravity to the service of the household. No
spot could be more beautiful — no solitude less invaded.

* Homeric Hymn.

ZANONT. 73

To the mysterious knowledge of Zanoni — to the harmless
ignorance of Yiola — the babbling and garish world of
civilized man w^as alike unheeded. The loving sky and
the lovely earth are companions enough to Wisdom and
to Ignorance while they love !

Although, as I have before said, there w^as nothing in
the visible occupations of Zanoni that betrayed a culti-
vator of the occult sciences, his habits were those of a
man who remembers or reflects. He loved to roam alone,
chiefly at dawn, or at night, when the moon w^as clear
(especially in each month, at its rise and full), miles and
miles away over the rich inlands of the island, and, to cull
herbs and flowers, which he hoarded with jealous care.
Sometimes at the dead of night, Yiola would wake by an
instinct that told her he was not by her side, and, stretch-
ing out her arms, find that the instinct had not deceived
her. But she early saw^ that he was reserved on his pe-
culiar habits, and if at times a chill, a foreboding, a sus-
picious awe crept over her, she forbore to question him.
But his rambles were not always unaccompanied — he
took pleasure in excursions less solitary. Often, when the
sea lay before them like a lake, the barren dreariness of
the oppasite coast of Cephallenia contrasting the smiling
shores on which they dwelt, Yiola and himself would pass
days in cruising slowly around the coast, or in visits to
the neighboring isles. Every spot of the Greek soil, "that
fair Fable-Land," seemed to him familiar ; and as he con-
versed of the Past, and its exquisite traditions, he taught
Yiola to love the race from which have descended the

1L~1

74 Z A N 0 N I .

poetry and the wisdom of the world. There was much in
Zanoni, as she knew him better, that deepened the fasci-
nation in which Yiola was from the first enthralled. His
love for herself was so tender, so vigilant, and had that
best and most enduring attribute, that it seemed rather
grateful for the happiness in its own cares than vain of
the happiness it created. His habitual mood with all who
approached him was calm and gentle, almost to apathy.
An angry word never passed his lips — an angry gleam
never shot from his eyes. Once they had been exposed
to the danger not uncommon in those then half-savage
lands. Some pirates who infested the neighboring coasts
had heard of the arrival of the strangers, and the seamen
Zanoni employed had gossiped of their master's wealth.
One night after Yiola had retired to rest, she was
awakened by a slight noise below. Zanoni was not by
her side ; she listened in some alarm. Was that a groan
that came upon her ear ? She started up, she went to
the door ; all was still. A footstep now slowly approached,
and Zanoni entered calm as usual, and seemed unconscious
of her fears. The next morning, three men w^ere found
dead at the threshold of the principal entrance, the door
of which had been forced. They were recognized in the
neighborhood as the most sanguinary and terrible ma-
rauders of the coasts — men stained with a thousand mur-
ders, and who had never hitherto failed in any attempt
to which the lust of rapine had impelled them. The foot-
steps of many others were tracked to the sea-shore. It
seemed that their accomplices must have fled on the death

ZANONI. 75

of their leaders. But when the Yenetian Proveditore, or
authority, of the island, came to examine into the matter,
the most unaccountable mystery was the manner in which
these rufiians had met their fate. Zanoni had not stirred
from the apartment in which he ordinarily pursued his
chemical studies. None of the servants had even been
disturbed from their slumbers. No marks of human vio-
lence were on the bodies of the dead. They died, and
made no sign. From that moment Zanoni's house — nay,
the whole vicinity — was sacred. The neighboring villages,
rejoiced to be delivered from a scourge, regarded the
stranger as one whom the Pagiana (or Yirgin) hield under
her especial protection. In truth, the lively Greeks around,
facile to all external impressions, and struck with the
singular and majestic beauty of the man who knew their
language as a native, whose voice often cheered them in
their humble sorrows, and whose hand was never closed
to their wants, long after he had left their shore preserved
his memory by grateful traditions, and still point to the
lofty platanus beneath which they had often seen him
seated, alone and thoughtful, in the heats of noon. But
Zanoni had haunts less open to the gaze than the shade
of the platanus. In that isle there are the bituminous
springs which Herodotus has commemorated. Often at
night, the moon, at least, beheld him emerging from the
myrtle and cystus that clothe the hillocks around the
marsh that embeds the pools containing the inflammable
materia, all the medical uses of which, as applied to the

Y6 ZANONI.

nerves of organic life, modern science has not yet perhaps
explored. Yet more often would he pass his hours in a
cavern, by the loneliest part of the beach, where the sta-
lactites seem almost arranged by the hand of art, and
which the superstition of the peasants associates, in some
ancient legends, with the numerous and almost incessant
earthquakes to which the island is so singularly subjected.

Whatever the pursuits that instigated these wanderings
and favored these haunts, either they were linked with, or
else subordinate to, one main and master desire, which
every fresh day passed in the sweet human company of
Yiola confirmed and strengthened.

The scene that Glyndon had witnessed in his trance
was faithful to truth. And some little time after the date
of that night, Yiola was dimly aware that an influence,
she knew not of what nature, was struggling to establish
itself over her happy life. Yisions indistinct and beau-
tiful, such as those she had known in her earlier days, but
constant and impressive, began to haunt her night and
day when Zanoni was absent, to fade in his presence, and
seem less fair than that. Zanoni questioned her eagerly
and minutely of these visitations, but seemed dissatisfied,
and at times perplexed, by her answers.

" Tell me not," he said, one day, " of those unconnected
images, those evolutions of starry shapes in a choral dance,
or those delicious melodies that seem to thee of the music
and the language of the distant spheres. Has no one
shape been to thee more distinct and more beautiful than

ZANONI. 7t

the rest — no voice uttering, or seeming to utter, thine
own tongue and whispering to thee of strange secrets and
solemn knowledge?"

" x^o ; all is confused in these dreams, whether of day
or night ; and when at the sound of thy footsteps I re-
cover, my memory retains nothing but a vague impression
of happiness. How different — how cold — to the rapture
of hanging on thy smile, and listening to thy voice, when
it says — 'I love thee!'"

"Yet, how is it that visions less fair than these once
seemed to thee so alluring ? How is it that they then
stirred thy fancies and filled thy heart ? Once thou didst
desire a fairy-land, and now thou seeraest so contented
with common life ! "

"Have I not explained it to thee before ? Is it com-
mon life, then, to love and to live with the one we love ?
My true fairy-land is won ! Speak to me of no other."

And so Night surprised them by the lonely beach ; and
Zanoni, allured from his sublimer projects, and bending
over that tender face, forgot that, in the Harmonious
Infinite which spread around, there were other worlds
than that one human heart I

1*

t8 Z A N 0 N I .

CHAPTER IX.

There is a principle of the soul, supex'ior to all nature, through
which we are capable of surpassing the order and systems of the
world. "When the soul is elevated to natures better than itself,
then it is entirely separated from subordinate natures, exchanges
this for another life, and, deserting the order of things with which
it was connected, links and mingles itself with another. — Iam-

BLICHUS.

"Adox-Ai! Adon-Ai ! — appear, appear!"

And in the lonely cave, whence once had gone forth
the oracles of a heathen god, there emerged from the
shadows of fantastic rocks a luminous and gigantic col-
umn, glittering and shifting. It resembled the shining
but misty spray, which, seen afar off, a fountain seems to
send up on a starry night. The radiance lit the stalac-
tites, the crags, the arches of the cave, and shed a pale
and tremulous splendor on the features of Zanoni.

'•Son of Eternal Light," said the invoker, "thou to
whose knowledge, grade after grade, race after race, I
attained at last, on the broad Chaldaean plains — thou from
whom I have drawn so largely of the unutterable know-
ledge, that yet eternity alone can suffice to drain — thou
who, congenial with myself, so far as our various beings
will permit, hast been for centuries my familiar and my
friend — answer me, and counsel

From the column there emerged a shape of unimagin-

ZANONI. " T9

able glory. Its face was that of a man ia its first youth ;
but solemn, as with the consciousness of eternity and the
tranquillity of wisdom ; light, like star-beams, flowed
through its transparent veins ; light made its limbs them-
selves, and undulated, in restless sparkles, through the
waves of its dazzling hair. With its arms folded on its
breast, it stood distant a few feet from Zanoni, and its
low voice murmured gently — " My counsels were sweet to
thee once ; and once, night after night, thy soul could
follow my wings through the untroubled splendors of the
Infinite. Now thou hast bound thyself back to the earth
by its strongest chains, and the attraction to the clay is
more potent than the sympathies that drew to thy charms
the Dweller of the Star-beam and the Air ! When last
thy soul hearkened to me, the senses already troubled
thine intellect and obscured thy vision. Once again I
come to thee ; but thy power even to summon me to thy
side is fading from thy spirit, as sunshine fades from the
wave, when the winds drive the cloud between the ocean
and the sky."

"Alas, Aidon-Ai !" answered the seer, mournfully, "I
know too well the conditions of the being which thy pres-
ence was wont to rejoice. I know that our wisdom comes
but from the indifference to the things of the world which
the wisdom masters. The mirror of the soul cannot re-
flect both earth and heaven ; and the one vanishes from
the surface as the other is glassed upon its deeps. But it
is not to restore me to that sublime abstraction in which
the Intellect, free and disembodied, rises, i:egion after re-

80 . Z A N 0 N I .

gioD, to the spheres, — that once again, and with the
agony and travail of enfeebled power, I have called thee
to mine aid. I love ; and in love I begin to live in the
sweet humanities of another ! If wise, yet in all which
makes danger powerless against myself, or those on whom
I can gaze from the calm height of indifferent science, I
am blind as the merest mortal to the destinies of the
creature that makes my heart beat with the passions which
obscure my gaze."

" What matter ! " answered Aidon-Ai. " Thy love must
be but a mockery of the name; thou canst not love as
they do for whom there are death and the grave. A short
time ! — like a day in thy incalculable life, and the form
thou dotest on is dust ! Others of the nether world go
hand in hand, each with each, unto the tomb ; hand in
hand they ascend from the worm to new cycles of existence.
For thee, below are ages ; for her, but hours. And for
her and thee — 0 poor, but mighty one ! — will there be
even a joint hereafter ! Through what grades and heavens
of spiritualized being will her soul have passed when thou,
the solitary Loiterer, comest from the vapors of the earth
to the gates of light ! "

" Son of the Star-beam, thinkest thou that this thought
is not with me for ever ; and seest thou not that I have
invoked thee to hearken and minister to my design ?
Readest thou not my desire and dream to raise the con-
ditions of her being to my own ? Thou, Aidon-Ai, bath-
ing the celestial joy that makes thy life in the oceans of
eternal splendor, — thou, save by the sympathies of know-

Z A N 0 N 1 . 81

ledge, canst conjecture not what I, the offspring of mor-
tals, feel — debarred yet from the objects of the tremendous
and sublime ambition that first winged my desires above
the clay — when I see myself compelled to stand in this
low world alone. — I have sought amongst my tribe for
comrades, and in vain. At last I have found a mate ! The
wild bird and the wild beast have theirs ; and my mastery
over the malignant tribes of terror can banish their larvae
from the path that shall lead her upward, till the air of
eternity fits the frame for the elixir that baffles death."

" And thou hast begun the initiation, and thou art
foiled ! I know it. Thou hast conjured to her sleep the
fairest visions; thou hast invoked the loveliest children
of the air to murmur their music to her trance, and her
soul heeds them not ; and, returning to the earth, escapes
from their control. Blind one, wherefore ? Canst thou
not perceive ? Because in her soul all is love. There is
no intermediate passion with which the things thou wouldst
charm to her have association and affinities. Their at-
traction is but to the desires and cravings of the intellect.
What have they with the passion that is of earth, and the
hope that goes direct to heaven ? "

"But can there be no medium — no link — in which our
souls, as our hearts, can be united, and so mine may have
influence over her own ? "

" Ask me not — thou wilt not comprehend me ! "

" I adjure thee ! — speak ! "

" When two souls are divided, knowest thou not that a

F

82 ZANONI.

third n which both meet and live is the link between
them ? "

" I do comprehend thee, Aidon-Ai," said Zanoni, with
a light of more human joy upon his face than it had ever
before been seen to wear ; '' and if my destiny, which here
is dark to mine eyes, vouchsafes to me the happy lot of
the humble — if ever there be a child that I may clasp to
my bosom and call my own ! "

" And is it to be man at last, that thou hast aspired to
be more than man?"

''But a child — a second Yiola !" murmured Zanoni,
scarcely heeding the Son of Light; "a young soul fresh
from Heaven, that I may rear from the first moment it
touches earth — whose wings I may train to follow mine
through the glories of creation ; and through whom the
mother herself may be led upward over the realm of
death ! "

" Beware — reflect ! Knowest thou not that thy darkest
enemy dwells iu the Real ? Thy wishes bring thee near
and nearer to humanity."

"Ah, Humanity is sweet I" answered Zanoni.

And as the Seer spoke, on the glorious face of Aidon-
Ai there broke a smile.

Z A N 0 N 1 . 83

CHAPTER X.

iEterna seternus tribuit, mortalia confert
Mortalis; divina Deus, peritura caducus.*

AuREL. Pkud. contra Symmaciium, lib. ii.

EXTRACTS FROM THE LETTERS OF ZANONI TO MEINOUR.

LETTER I.

Thou hast not informed me of the progress of thy
pupil ; and I fear that so differently does Circumstance
shape the minds of the generations to which we are de-
scended, from the intense and earnest children of the
earlier world, that even thy most careful and elaborate
guidance would fail, with loftier and purer natures than
that of the Neophyte thou hast admitted within thy gates.
Even that third state of being, which the Indian sagef
rightly recognizes as being between the sleep and the
waking, and describes imperfectly by the name of trance,
is unknown to the children of the northern world ; and
few but would recoil to indulge it, regarding its peopled
calm, as the mdyd and delusion of the mind. Instead of

* The Eternal gives eternal things, the Mortal gathers mortal
things : God, that which is divine, and the perishable that which is
perishable.

j- The Brahmins, speaking of Brahm, say, — "To the Omniscient
the three modes of being — sleep, waking, and trance, — are not; "
distinctly recognizing trance as a third and co-equal condition of
being.

84 ZANONI.

ripening and culturing that airy soil, from which nature,
duly known, can evoke fruits so rich and flowers so fair,
they strive but to exclude it from their gaze ; they esteem
that struggle of the intellect from men's narrow world to
the spirit's infinite home, as a disease which the leech
must extirpate with pharmacy and drugs, and know not
even that it is from this condition of their being, in its
most imperfect and infant form, that Poetry, Music, Art
— all that belong to an Idea of Beauty, to which neither
sleeping nor waking can furnish archetype and actual
semblance — take their immortal birth. When we, 0
Mejnour, in the far time, were ourselves the Neophytes
and Aspirants — we were of a class to which the actual
world was shut and barred. Our forefathers had no ob-
ject in life but knowledge. From the cradle we were
predestined and reared to wisdom as to a priesthood. We
commenced research where modern Conjecture closes its
faithless wings. And v/ith us, those were the common
elements of science which the sages of to-day disdain as
wild chimeras, or despair of as unfathomable mysteries.
Even the fundamental principles, the large, yet simple
theories of Electricity and Magnetism, rest obscure and
dim in the disputes of their blinded schools ; yet, even in
our youth, how few ever attained to the first circle of the
brotherhood, and, after wearily enjoying the sublime privi-
leges they sought, they voluntarily abandoned the light
of the sun, and sunk, without effort, to the grave, like
pilgrims in a trackless desert, overawed by the stillness
of their solitude, and appalled by the absence of a goal.

Z A N 0 N 1 . 85

Thou, in whom nothing seems to live hut the desire to
know — thou, who, indifferent whether it leads to weal or
to woe, lendest thyself to all who would tread the path
of mysterious science, — a Human Book, insensate to the
precepts it enounces ; thou hast ever sought, and often
made additions to our number. But to these have only
been vouchsafed partial secrets ; vanity and passion un-
fitted them for the rest ; and now, without other interest
than that of an experiment in science, without love, and
without pity, thou exposest this new soul to the hazards
of the tremendous ordeal I Thou thinkest that a zeal so
inquisitive, a courage so absolute and dauntless, may suf-
fice to conquer, w^here austerer intellect and purer virtue
have so often failed. Thou thinkest, too, that the germ
of art that lies in the Painter's mind, as it comprehends
in itself the entire embryo of Power and Beauty, may be
expanded into the stately flower of the Golden Science.
It is a new experiment to thee. Be gentle with thy Neo-
phyte, and if his nature disappoint thee in the first stages
of the process, dismiss him back to the Real, while it is
yet time to enjoy the brief and outward life which dwells
in the senses, and closes with the tomb. And as I thus
admonish^thee, 0 Mejnour, wilt thou smile at my incon-
sistent-hopes? I, who have so invariably refused to
initiate others into our mysteries, — I begin at last to
comprehend why the great law, which binds man to his
kind, even when seeking most to set himself aloof from
their condition, has made thy cold and bloodless science
the link between thyself and thy race ; — why thou hast
II —8

86 ZANONI.

sought converts and pupils — why, in seeing life after life
voluntarily dropping from our starry order, thou still as-
pirest to renew the vanished, and repair the lost — why,
amidst thy calculations, restless and unceasing as the
wheels of Nature herself, thou recoilest from the thought
TO BE alone! So with myself; at last I, too, seek a
convert — an equal — T, too, shudder to be alone ! What
thou hast warned me of has come to pass. Love reduces
all things to itself. Either must I be drawn down to the
nature of the beloved, or hers must be lifted to my own.
As whatever belongs to true Art has always necessarily
had attraction for us, whose very being is in the ideal
whence Art descends, so in this fair creature I have
learned, at last, the secret that bound me to her at the
first glance. The daughter of music — music, passing
into her being, became poetry. It was not the stage that
attracted her, with its hollow falsehoods ; it was the land
in her own fancy which the stage seemed to centre and
represent. There the poetry found a voice — there it
struggled into imperfect shape ; and then (that land, in-
sufficient for it) it fell back upon itself. It colored her
thoughts, it suffused her soul; it asked not words, it
created not things ; it gave birth but to emotions, and
lavished itself on dreams. At last came love ; and there,
as a river into the sea, it poured its restless waves, to
become mute, and deep, and still — the everlasting mirror
of the heavens.

And is it not through this poetry which lies within her
that she may be led into the large poetry of the universe ?

ZANONI. 87

Often I listen to her careless talk, and find oracles in its
unconscious beauty, as we find strange virtues in some
lonely flower. I see her mind ripening under my ; and eyes
in its fair fertility what ever-teeming nbvelties of thought !
0 Mejnour ! how many of our tribe have unravelled the
laws of the universe — have solved the riddles of the ex-
terior nature, and deduced the light from dariiuess ! And
is not the POET, who studies nothing but the human
heart, a greater philosopher than all ? Knowledge and
atheism are incompatible. To know nature is to know
that there mast be a God ! But does it require this to
examine the method and architecture of creation ? Me-
thinks, when I look upon a pure mind, however ignorant
and childlike, that I see the August and Immaterial One,
more clearly than in all the orbs of matter which career
at His bidding through the space.

Rightly is it the fundamental decree of our order, that
we must impart our secrets only to the pure. The most
terrible part of the ordeal is in the temptations that our
power affords to the criminal. If it were possible that a
malevolent being could attain to our faculties, what disorder
it might introduce into the globe ! Happy that it is 7iot
possible ; the malevolence would disarm the power. It is
on the purity of Yiola that I rely, as thou more vainly
hast relied on the courage or the genius of thy pupils.
Bear me witness, Mejnour ! Never since the distant day
in which I pierced the Arcana of our knowledge, have I
ever sought to make its mysteries subservient to unworthy
objects ; though, alas ! the extension of our existence

88 Z AN ON I.

robs us of a country and a homo ; though the law that
places all science, as all art, in the abstraction from the
noisy passions and turbulent ambition of actual life, forbids
us to influence the destinies of nations, for which Heaven
selects ruder and blinder agencies ; yet, wherever have
been my wanderings, I have sought to soften distress, and
to convert from sin. My power has been hostile only to
the guilty ; and yet, with all our lore, how in each step we
are reduced to be but the permitted instruments of the
Power, that vouchsafes our own, but only to direct it. How
all our wisdom shrinks into nought, compared with that
which gives the meanest herb its virtues, and peoples the
smallest globule with its appropriate world ! And while
we are allowed at times to influence the happiness of others,
how mysteriously the shadows thicken round our own
future doom ! We cannot be prophets to ourselves 1
With what trembling hope I nurse the thought that I may
preserve to my solitude the light of a living smile !

* * * >lJ * 5jS

EXTRACTS FROM LETTER 11.

Deeming, myself not pure enough to initiate so pure a
heart, I invoke to her trance those fairest and most tender
inhabitants of space that have furnished to Poetry, which
is the instinctive guess into creation, the ideas of the
Glendoveer and Sylph. And these were less pure than
her own thoughts, and less tender than her own love !
They could not raise her above her human heart, for that
has a heaven of its own.

******

ZANONI. 89

I have just looked on her in sleep — I have heard her
breatlie my name. Alas ! that which is so sweet to others
has its bitterness to me ; for I think how soon the time
may come when that sleep will be without a dream —
when the heart that dictates the name will be cold, and the
lips that utter it be dumb. What a twofold shape there
is in love ! If we examine it coarsely — if we look but on
its fleshly ties — its enjoyment of a moment — its turbulent
fever and its dull reaction, — how strange it seems that
this passion should be the supreme mover of the world ;
that it is this which has dictated the greatest sacrifices,
and influenced all societies and all times ; that to this the
loftiest and loveliest genius has ever consecrated its devo-
tion ; that, but for love, there were no civilization — no
music, no poetry, no beauty, no life beyond the brute's.

But examine it in its heavenlier shape — in its utter
abnegation of self — in its intimate connection with all
that is most delicate and subtle in the spirit — its power
above all that is sordid in existence — its mastery over the
idols of the baser worship — its ability to create a palace
of the cottage, an oasis in the desert, a summer in the
Iceland — where it breathes, and fertilizes, and glows ; and
the wonder rather becomes how so few regard it in its
holiest nature. What the sensual call its enjoyments, are
the least of its joys. True love is less a passion than a
symbol. Mejnour, shall the time come when I can speak
to thee of Yiola as a thing that was ?

* * * sK * *

90 Z ANON I.

EXTRACT FROM LETTER III.

Knowest thou that of late I have sometimes asked my-
self, " Is there no guilt in the knowledge that has so
divided us from our race ? " It is true that the higher
we ascend, the more hateful seem to us the vices of the
short-lived creepers of the earth — the more the sense of
the goodness of the All-good penetrates and suffuses us,
and the more immediately does our happiness seem to
emanate from Him. But, on the other hand, how many
virtues must lie dead in those, who live in the world of
death, and refuse to die ! Is not this sublime egotism,'
this state of abstraction and reverie — this self- wrapt and
self-dependent majesty of existence, a resignation of that
nobility which incorporates our own welfare, our joys,
our hopes, our fears with others ? To live on in no dread
of foes, undegraded by infirmity, secure through the cares,
and free from the disease of flesh, is a spectacle that cap-
tivates our pride. And yet dost thou not more admire —
him w^ho dies for another ? Since I have loved her, Mej-
nour, it seems almost cowardice to elude the grave which
devours the hearts that wrap us in their folds. I feel it
— the earth grows upon my spirit. Thou wert right;
eternal age, serene and passionless, is a happier boon
than eternal youth, with its yearnings and desires. Until
we can be all spirit, the tranquillity of solitude must be
indifference.

5|« S|C «|C •P ^ 9|I

ZANONT. 91

EXTRACTS FROM LETTER IV.

I have received thy communication. What ! is it so ?
Has thy pupil disappointed thee ? Alas, poor pupil I
But —

(Here follow comments on those passages in Glyndon's
life already known to the reader, or about to be made so,
with earnest adjurations to Mejnour to watch yet over the
fate of his scholar.)

But I cherish the, same desire, with a warmer heart. My
pupil ! how the terrors that shall encompass thine ordeal
warn me from the task ! Once more I will seek the Son
of Light.

* * sjj * :J: *

Yes ; Adon-Ai, long deaf to my call, at last has descended
to my vision, and left behind him the glory of his presence
in the shape of Hope. Oh, not impossible, Yiola, — not
impossible, that we yet may be united, soul with soul !

EXTRACT FROM LETTER Y.—{Mamj months after the last.)

Mejnour, awake from thine apathy — rejoice ! A new
soul will be born to the world. A new soul that shall
call me Father. Ah, if they for whom exist all the oc-
cupations and resources of human life — if they carX thrill
with exquisite emotion, at the thought of hailing again
their own childhood in the faces of their children — if, in
that birth they are born once more into the holy Innocence
which is the first state of existence — if they can feel that
on man devolves almost an Angel's duty, when he has a

92 ZANONI.

life to guide from the cradle, and a soul to nurture for the
Heaven — what to me must be the rapture, to welcome as
Inheritor of all the gifts which double themselves in being
shared ! How sweet the power to watch, and to guard —
to instil the knowledge, to avert the evil, and to guide
back the river of life in a richer, and broader, and deeper
stream, to the paradise from which it flows ! And beside
that river our souls shall meet, sweet Mother. Our child
shall supply the sympathy that fails as yet ; and what
shape shall haunt thee, what terror shall dismay, when
thy initiation is beside the cradle of thy child !

CHAPTER XI.

They thus beguile the way,
Until tlie blustring storme is overblowne,
When weening to returne whence they did stray
They cannot finde that path which first was showne,
But wander to and fro in waies unknowne.

Spenskr's Faerie Queene, book i. canto i. st. x.

Yes, Yiola, thou art another being than when, by the
threshold of thy Italian home, thou didst follow thy dim
fancies through the Land of Shadow ; or when thou didst
vainly seek to give voice to an Ideal beauty, on the boards
where Illusion counterfeits Earth and Heaven for an hour,
till the weary sense, awaking, sees but the tinsel and the
scene-shifter. Thy spirit reposes in its own happiness.
Its wanderings have found a goal. In a moment there

ZANONI. 93

often dwells the sense of eternity ; for when profoundly
happy, we know that it is impossible to die. Whenever
the soul feels itself, it feels everlasting life !

The initiation is deferred — thy days and nights are left
to no other visions than those with which a contented
heart enchants a guileless fancy. Glendoveers and sylphs,
pardon me if I question whether those visions are not
lovelier than yourselves !

They stand by the beach, and see the sun sinking into
the sea. How long now have they dwelt on that island ?
What matters ! — it may be months, or years — what mat-
ters ! Why should I, or they, keep account of that happy
time ? As in the dream of a moment ages may seem to
pass, so shall we measure transport or woe — by the
length of the dream, or the number of emotions that the
dream involves ?

The sun sinks slowly down ; the air is arid and oppres-
sive ; on the sea, the stately vessel lies motionless ; on the
shore, no leaf trembles on the trees.

Yiola drew nearer to Zanoni ; a presentiment she could
not define made her heart beat more quickly ; and, look-
ing, into his face, she was struck with its expression : it
was anxious, abstracted, perturbed. "This stillness awes
me," she whispered.

Zanoni did not seem to hear her. He muttered to him-
self, and his eyes gazed round restlessly. She knew not
why, but that gaze, which seemed to pierce into space —
that muttered voice in some foreign language — revived

9i ZANONI.

dimly her earlier superstitions. She was more fearful since
the hour when she knew that she was to be a mother.
Strange crisis in the life of woman, and in her lore !
Something yet unborn begins already to divide her heart
with that which had been before its only monarch !

" Look on me, Zanoni," she said, pressing his hand.

He turned : " Thou art pale, Viola ; thy hand trembles ! "

" It is true. I feel as if some enemy were creeping near
us."

'* And the instinct deceives thee not. An enemy is
indeed at hand. I see it through the heavy air ; I hear
it through the silence : the Ghostly One — the Destroyer

the Pestilence ! Ah, seest thou how the leaves swarm

with insects, only by an effort visible to the eye. They
follow the breath of the plague ! " As he spoke, a bird
fell from the boughs at Viola's feet : it fluttered, it writhed
an instant, and was dead.

"Oh, Viola!" cried Zanoni, passionately, ''that ia*
death. Dost thou not fear to die ? "

" To leave thee ? Ah, yes ! "

" And if I could teach thee how Death may be defied

if I could arrest for thy youth the course of time — if I

could "

He paused abruptly, for Viola's eyes spoke only terror ;
her cheek and lips were pale.

"Speak not thus — look not thus," she said, recoiling
Irom him. " You dismay me. Ah, speak not thus, or I
should tremble — no, not for myself, but for thy child."

Z A N 0 N 1 . 95

" Thy child ! But wouldst thou reject for thy child the
same glorious boon?"

"Zanoni!"

^' Well I''

"The sun has sunk from our eyes, but to rise on those
of others. To disappear from this world, is to live in the
world afar. Oh, lover — oh, husband!" she continued,
with sudden energy, "tell me that thou didst but jest —
that thou didst but trifle with my folly ! There is less
terror in the pestilence than in thy words."

Zanoni's brow darkened ; he looked ^t her in silence
for some moments, and then said, almost severely —

"What hast thou known of me to distrust?"

" Oh, pardon, pardon ! — nothing ! " cried Yiola, throw-
ing herself on his breast, and bursting into tears. "I will
not believe even thine own words, if they seem to wrong
thee ! " He kissed the tears from her eyes, but made no
answer.

" And ah ! " she resumed, with an enchanting and child-
like smile, " if thou wouldst give me a charm against the
pestilence ! see, I will take it from thee." And she laid
her hand on a small antique amulet that he wore on his
breast.

" Thou knowest how often this has made me jealous
of the past ; surely, some love-gift, Zanoni ? But no,
thou didst not love the giver as thou dost me. Shall I
steal thine amulet ? "

"Infant!" said Zanoni, tenderly; "she who placed

96 Z AN ONI.

this round my neck deemed it indeed a charm, for she had
superstitions like thyself; but to me it is more than the
wizard's spell — it is the relic of a sweet vanished time,
when none who loved me could distrust."

He said these words in a tone of such melancholy re-
proach, that it went to the heart of Yiola ; but the tone
changed into a solemnity which chilled back the gush of
her feelings as he resumed : " And this, Viola, one day,
perhaps, I will transfer from my breast to thine ; yes,
whenever thou shalt comprehend me better — ivhenever
the laics of our being shall he the same I ^^

He moved on gently. They returned slowly home; but
fear still was in the heart of Yiola, though she strove to
shake it off. Italian and Catholic she was, with all the
superstitions of land and sect. She stole to her chamber,
and prayed before a little relic of San Gennaro, which
the priest of her house had given to her in childhood, and
which had accompanied her in all her wanderings. She
had never deemed it possible to part with it before. Now,
if there was a charm against the pestilence, did she fear
the pestilence for herself? The next morning when he
awoke, Zanoni found the relic of the saint suspended, with
his mystic amulet, round his neck.

*' Ah ! thou wilt have nothing to fear from the pesti-
lence now," said Yiola, between tears and smiles; ''and
when thou wouldst talk to me again as thou didst last
night, the saint shall rebuke thee."

Well, Zanoni, can there ever indeed be commune of
thought and spirit, except with eauals ?

Z A N 0 N I . ^ 97

Yes, the Plague broke out — the island home must be
abandoned. Mighty Seer, thou hast no poiuer to save
those whom thou lovest! Farewell, thou bridal roof! —
sweet resting-place from Care, farewell ! Climates as soft
may greet ye, 0 lovers — skies as serene, and waters as
blue and calm. But that time, can it ever more return ?
Who shall say that the heart does not change with the
scene — the place where we first dwelt with the beloved
one ? Every spot there has so many memories which the
place only can recall. The past that haunts it, seems to
command such constancy in the future. If a thought less
kind, less trustful, enter within us, the sight of a tree,
under which a vow has been exchanged, a tear has been
'k:issed away, restores us again to the hours of the first
divine illusion. But in a home, where nothing speaks
of the first nuptials, where there is no eloquence of asso-
ciation, no holy burial-places of emotions, whose ghosts
are angels! — yes, who that has gone through the sad
history of Aftection will tell us, that the heart changes
not with the scene ! Blow fair, ye favoring winds ; cheerily
swell, ye sails ; away from the land where Death has come
to snatch the sceptre of Love ! The shores glide by ;
new coasts succeed to the green hills and orange-groves
of the Bridal Isle. From afar now gleam in the moon-
light the columns, yet extant, of a temple which the
Athenian dedicated to Wisdom ; and, standing on the
bark that bounded on in the freshening gale, the votary
who had survived the goddess murmured to himself —
II. — 9 G

98 # ZANONI.

*' Has the wisdom of ages brought me no happier hours
than those common to the shepherd and the herdsman,
with no world beyond their village — no aspiration beyond
the kiss and the smile of home ? "

And the moon resting alike over the ruins of the temple
of the departed Creed — over the hut of the living peasant
— over the immemorial mountain-top, and the perishable
herbage that clothed its sides, seemed to smile back its
answer of calm disdain to the being who, perchance, might
have seen the temple built, and who, in his inscrutable
existence, might behold the mountain shattered from its
base.

BOOK FIFTH.

THE EFFECTS OF THE ELIXIR

CHAPTER I.

Zwei Seelen wolinen, ach ! in meiner Brust.

* * * * *

Was stehst clu so, und blickst erstaunt hinaus?*

Faust.

It will be remembered that we left Master Paolo by the
bed-side of Gljndon ; and as, waking from that profound
slumber, the recollections of the past night came horribly
back to his mind, the Englishman uttered a cry, and
covered his face with his hands

" Good morrow, Excellency," said Paolo, gaily. " Corpo
di Bacco, you have slept soundly ! "

The sound of this man's voice, so lusty, ringing, and
healthful, served to scatter before it the phantasma that
yet haunted Glyndon's memory.

He rose erect in his bed. ''And where did you find
me ? Why are you here ? "

* Two souls dwell, alas ! in my breast.

* * -H- *

Why standest thou so, and lookest out astonished?

(99)

100 ZANONI.

" Where aid I find you ! " repeated Paolo, in surprise
—"in your bed, to be sure. Why am I here ! — because
the Padrone bade me await your waking, and attend your
commands."

" The Padrone, Mejnour ! — is he arrived ? "

"Arrived and departed, Signor. He has left this letter
for you."

" Give it me, and wait without till I am dressed."

"At your service. I have bespoke an excellent break-
fast : you must be hungry. I am a very tolerable cook ;
a monk's son ought to be ! You will be startled at my
genius in the dressing of fish. My singing, I trust, will
not disturb you. I always sing while I prepare a salad ;
It harmonizes the ingredients." And slinging his carbine
over his shoulder, Paolo sauntered from the room, and
closed the doo-r.

Glyndon was already deep in the contents of the follow-
ing lette.

" When I first received thee as my pupil, I promised
Zanoni, if convinced by thy first trials that thou couldst
but swell, not the number of our order, but the list of the
victims who have aspired to it in vain, I would not rear
thee to thine own wretchedness and doom — I would dis-
miss thee back to the world. I fulfil my promise. Thine
ordeal has been the easiest that Neophyte ever knew. I
asked for nothing but abstinence from the sensual, and a
brief experiment of thy patience and thy faith. Go back
to thine own world ; thou hast no nature to aspire to ours I

" It was I who prepared Paolo to receive thee at the

ZANONI. 101

revel. It was I who instigated the old beggar to ask thee
for alms. It was I who left open the book that thou
couldst not read without violating mj command. Well,
thou hast seen what awaits thee at the threshold of know-
ledge. Thou hast confronted the first foe that menaces
him whom the senses yet grasp and enthral. Dost thou
wonder that I close upon thee the gates for ever ! Dost
thou not comprehend, at last, that it needs a soul tem-
pered, and purified, and raised, not by external spells, but
by its own sublimity and valor, to pass the threshold, and
disdain the foe ? Wretch ! all my silence avails nothing
for the rash, for the sensual — for him who desires our
secrets, but to pollute them to gross enjoyments and selfish
vice ? How have the impostors and sorcerers of the
earlier times perished by their very attempt to penetrate
the mysteries that should purify and not deprave ! They
have boasted of the philosopher's stone, and died in rags ;
of the immortal elixir, and sunk to their grave, grey before
their time. Legends tell you that the fiend rent them
into fragments. Yes ; the fiend of their own unholy desires
and criminal designs ! What they coveted thou covetest ;
and if thou hadst the wings of a seraph, thou couldst soar
not from the slough of thy mortality. Thy desire for
knowledge, but petulant presumption ; thy thirst for hap-
piness, but the diseased longing for the unclean and
muddied waters of corporeal pleasure ; thy very love,
which usually elevates even the mean, a passion that cal-
culates treason amidst the first glow of lust; — thou, one
of us ! Thou, a brother of the August Order I Thou,
9*

102 ZANONI.

an Aspirant to the Stars that shine in the Shemaid of the
Chaldaean lore ! The eagle can raise but the eaglet to
the sun. I abandon thee to thy twilight !

" But, alas, for thee, disobedient and profane ! thou
hast inhaled the elixir ; thou hast attracted to thy pre-
sence a ghastly and remorseless foe. Thou thyself must
exorcise the phantom thou hast raised. Thou must return
to the world ; but not without punishment and strong
effort canst thou regain the calm and the joy of the life
thou hast left behind. This, for thy comfort, will I tell
thee : he who has drawn into his frame even so little of
the volatile and vital energy of the aerial juices as thyself,
has awakened faculties that cannot sleep — faculties that
may yet, with patient humility, with sound faith, and the
courage that is not of the body like thine, but of the
resolute and virtuous mind, attain, if not to the knowledge
that reigns above, to high achievement in the career of
men. Thou wilt find the restless influence in all that thou
wouldst undertake. Thy heart, amidst vulgar joys, will
aspire to something holier ; thy ambition, amidst coarse
excitement, to something beyond thy reach. But deem
not that this of itself will suffice for glory. Equally may
the craving lead thee to shame and guilt. It is but an
imperfect and new-born energy, which will not suffer thee
to repose. As thou directest it, must thou believe it to
be the emanation of thine evil genius or thy good.

''But woe to thee ! insect meshed in the web in which
thou hast entangled limbs and wings ! Thou hast not
only inhaled the elixir, thou hast conjured the spectre ;

ZANONI. 103

of all the tribes of the space, no foe is so malignant to
man — and thou hast lifted the veil from thy gaze. I can-
not restore to thee the happy dimness of thy vision. Know,
at least, , that all of us — the highest and the wisest — who
have, in sober truth, passed beyond the threshold, have
had, as our first fearful task, to master and subdue its
grisly and appalling guardian. Know that thou canst
deliver thyself from those livid eyes — know that, while
they haunt, they cannot harm, if thou resistest the thoughts
to which they tempt, and the horror they engender.
Dread them most ichen thou beholdest them not. And
thus, son of the worm, we part ! All that I can tell thee
to encourage, yet to warn and to guide, I have told thee
in these lines. Not from me, from thyself has come the
gloomy trial, from which I yet trust thou wilt emerge into
peace. Type of the knowledge that I serve, I withhold
no lesson from the pure aspirant ; I am a dark enigma
to the general seeker. As man's only indestructible pos-
session is his memory, so it is not in mine art to crumble
into matter the immaterial thoughts that have sprung up
within thy breast. The tyro might shatter this castle to
the dust, and topple down the mountain to the plain. The
master has no power to say, 'Exist no more,' to one
THOUGHT that his knowledge has inspired. Thou mayst
change the thought into new forms — thou mayst rarefy
and sublimate it into a finer spirit ; but thou canst not
annihilate that which has no home but in the memory —
no substance but the idea. Every thought is a soul !
Yainly, therefore, would I or thou undo the past, or re-

104 ZANONI.

store to thee the gay blindness of thy youth. Thou must
endure the influence of the elixir thou hast inhaled ; thou
must wrestle with the spectre thou hast invoked!"

The letter fell from Glyndon's hand. A sort of stupor
succeeded to the various emotions which had chased each
other in the perusal — a stupor, resembling that which
follows the sudden destruction of any ardent and long-
nursed hope in the human heart, whether it be of love,
of avarice, of ambition. The loftier world for which he
had so thirsted, sacrificed, and toiled, was closed upon
him ''for ever," and by his own faults of rashness and
presumption. But Glyndon's was not of that nature
which submits long to condemn itself. His indignation
began to kindle against Mejnour, who owned he had
tempted, and who now abandoned him — abandoned him
to the presence of a spectre. The Mystic's reproaches
stung, rather than humbled him. What crime had he
committed to deserve language so harsh and disdainful ?
Was it so deep a debasement to feel pleasure in the smile
and the eyes of Fillide ? Had not Zanoni himself con-
fessed love for Yiola ? — had he not fled with her as his
companion ? Glyndon never paused to consider if there
are no distinctions between one kind of love and another.
Where, too, was the great offence of yielding to a tempta-
tion which only existed for the brave ? Had not the
mystic volume which Mejnour had purposely left open,
bid him but ''Beware of fear?" Was not, then, every
wilful provocative held out to the strongest influences of
the human mind, in the prohibition to enter the chamber

Z A N 0 N 1 . 105

— in the possession of the key which excited his curiosity

— in the volume which seemed to dictate the mode by
which the curiosity was to be gratified ? As, rapidly,
these thoughts passed over him, he began to consider the
whole conduct of Mejnour either as a perfidious design
to entrap him to his own misery, or as the trick of an
impostor, who knew that he could not realize the great
professions he had made. On glancing again over the
more mysterious threats and warnings in Mejnour's letter,
they seemed to assume the language of mere parable and
allegory — the jargon of the Platonists and Pythagoreans.
By little and little, he began to consider that the very
spectre he had seen — even that one phantom so horrid
in its aspect — were but the delusions which Mejnour's
science had enabled him to raise. The healthful sun-light,
filling up every cranny in his chamber, seemed to laugh
away the terrors of the past night. His pride and his
resentment nerved his habitual courage : and when, having
hastily dressed himself, he rejoined Paolo, it was with a
flushed cheek and a haughty step.

"So, Paolo," said he, "the Padrone, as you call him,
told you to expect and welcome me at your village feast ? "

" He did so, by a message from a wretched old cripple.
This surprised me at the time, for I thought he was far
distant. But these great philosophers make a joke of
two or three hundred leagues.-'

" Why did you not tell me you had heard from Mej-
nour ? "

'' Because the old cripple forbade me."

106 ZANONI.

"Did you not see the man afterwards during the
dance ? "

" No, Excellency."

'' Humph ! "

"Allow me to serve yon," said Paolo, piling Glyndon's
plate, and then filling his glass. " I wish, Signor, now
the Padrone is gone, — not" — added Paolo, as he cast
rather a frightened and suspicious glance round the room
■ — "that I mean to say anything disrespectful of him, —
I wish, I say, now that he is gone, that you w^ould take
pity on yourself, and ask your own heart what your youth
was meant for ? Not to bury yourself alive in these old
ruins, and endanger body and soul by studies which I am
sure no saint could approve of."

"Are the saints so partial, then, to your own occupa-
tions, Master Paolo ? "

"Why," answered the bandit, a little confused, "a
gentleman with plenty of pistoles in his purse, need not,
of necessity, make it his profession to take away the pistoles
of other people ! It is a different thing for us poor rogues.
After all, too, I always devote a tihte of my gains to the
Yirgin ; and I share the rest charitably with the poor.
But eat, drink, enjoy yourself — be absolved by your con-
fessor for any little peccadilloes, and don't run too long
scores at a time — that's my advice. Your health. Excel-
lency j Pshaw, Signor, fasting, except on the days pre-
scribed to a good Catholic, only engenders phantoms."

"Phantoms!"

"Yes ; the devil always tempts the empty stomach. To

ZANONI. lOV

covet, to hate, to thieve, to rob, and to murder ; — these
are the natural desires of a man who is famishing. With
a full belly, Signor, we are at peace with all the world.
That's right : you like the partridge ! Cospetto ! when I
myself have passed two or three days in the mountains,
with nothing from sunset to sunrise but a black crust and
an onion, I grow as fierce as a wolf. That's not the worst
too. In these times I see little imps dancing before me.
Oh, yes ; fasting is as full of spectres as a field of battle."

Glyndon thought there was some sound philosophy in
the reasoning of his companion ; and certainly, the more
he ate and drank, the more the recollection of the past
night and of Meinour's desertion faded from his mind.
The casement was open — the breeze blew — the sun shone
— all Nature was merry ; and merry as Nature herself
grew Maestro Paolo. He talked of adventures, of travel,
of women, with a hearty gusto that had its infection. But
Glyndon listened yet more complacently when Paolo
turned with an arch smile to praises of the eye, the teeth,
the ankles, and the shape of the handsome Fillide.

This man, indeed, seemed the very personation of animal
sensual life. He would have been to Faust a more danger-
ous tempter than Mephistopheles. There was no sneer
on his lip at the pleasures which animated his voice. To
one awaking to a sense of the vanities in knowledge, this
reckless ignorant joyousness of temper was a worse cor-
rupter than all the icy mockeries of a learned Fiend. But
when Paolo took his leave, with a promise to return the
next day, the mind of the Englishman again settled back

108 ZANONI.

to a graver and more thoughtful mood. The elixir seemed,
in truth, to have left the refining effects Mejnour had
ascribed to it. As Glyndon paced to and fro the solitary
corridor, or, pausing, gazed upon the extended and glorious
scenery that stretched below, high thoughts of enterprise
and ambition — bright visions of glory — passed in rapid
succession through his soul.

" Mejnour denies me his science. "Well," said the painter,
proudly, " he has not robbed me of my art."

What I Clarence Glyndon ! dost thou return to that from
which thy career commenced ? Was Zanoni right after all ?
He found himself in the chamber of the Mystic : not a
vessel — not an herb ! the solemn volume is vanished —
the elixir shall sparkle for him no more ! But still in the
room itself seems to linger the atmosphere of a charm.
Faster and fiercer it burns within thee, the Desire to
achieve, to create ! Thou longest for a life beyond the
sensual! — but the life that is permitted to all genius —
that which breathes through the immortal work, and
endures in the imperishable name.

Where are the implements for thine art? Tush! —
when did the true workman ever fail to find his tools ?
Thou art again in thine own chamber — the white wall thy
canvas — a fragment of charcoal for thy pencil. They
suffice, at least, to give outline to the conception, that
may otherwise vanish with the morrow.

The idea that thus excited the imagination of the artist
was unquestionably noble and august. It was derived from
that Egyptian ceremonial which Diodorus has recorded —

ZANONI. 109

the Judgment of the Dead by the Living: * when the corpse,
duly embalmed, is placed by the margin of the Acherusian
Lake ; and before it may be consigned to the bark which
is to bear it across the waters to its final resting-place, it
is permitted to the appointed judges to hear all accusations
of the past life of the deceased, and, if proved, to deprive
the corpse of the rites of sepulture.

Unconsciously to himself, it was Meinour's description
of this custom, which he had illustrated by several anec-
dotes not to be found in books, that now suggested the
design to the artist, and gave it reality and force. He
supposed a powerful and guilty king whom in life scarce
a whisper had dared to arraign, but against whom, now
the breath was gone, came the slave from his fetters, the
mutilated victim from his dungeon, livid and squalid as
if dead themselves, invoking with parched lips the justice
that outlives the grave.

Strange fervor this, 0 Artist ! breaking suddenly forth
from the mists and darkness which the occult science had
spread so long over thy fancies — strange that the reaction
of the night's terror and the day's disappointment should
be back to thine holy art ! Oh, how freely goes the bold
band over the large outline I How, despite those rude
materials, speaks forth no more the pupil, but the master !
Fresh yet from the glorious elixir, how thou givest to thy
creatures the finer life denied to thyself 1 — some power
not thine own writes the grand symbols on the wall.

*Diod., lib. i.
IL— 10

110 ZANONl.

Behind, rises the mighty sepulchre, on the building of
which repose to the dead, the lives of thousands had beea
consumed. There, sit in a semicircle the solemn judges.
Black and sluggish flows the lake. There lies the mum-
mied and royal dead. Dost thou quail 'at the frown on
his life-like brow ? Ha ! — bravely done, 0 Artist ! — up
rise the haggard forms ! • — pale speak the ghastly faces !
Shall not Humanity after death avenge itself on Power ?
Thy conception, Clarence Glyndon, is a sublime truth ;
thy design promises renown to genius. Better this magic
than the charms of the volume and the vessel. Hour after
hour has gone ; thou hast lighted the lamp ; night sees
thee yet at thy labor. Merciful heaven ! what chills the
atmosphere? — why does the lamp grow wan? — why
does thy hair bristle ? There ! — there ! — there 1 at the
casement ! — It gazes on thee, the dark, mantled, loath-
some Thing ! There, with their devilish mockery and
hateful craft, glare on thee those horrid eyes !

He stood and gazed — it was no delusion. It spoke
not, moved not, till, unable to bear longer that steady and
burning look, he covered his face with his hands. With
a start, with a thrill, he removed them : he felt the nearer
presence of the Nameless. There, it cowered on the floor
beside his design ; and lo ! the figures seemed to start
from the wall ! Those pale accusing figures, the shapes
he himself had raised, frowned at him and gibbered. With
a violent effort that convulsed his whole being, and bathed
his body in the sweat of agony, the young man mastered

ZANONI. Ill

his horror. He strode towards the phantom ; he endured
its eyes ; he accosted it^with a steady voice ; he demanded
its purpose and defied its power.

And then, as a wind from acharnel, was heard its voice.
What it said, wfiat revealed, it is forbidden the lips to
repeat, the hand to record. Nothing save the subtle life
that yet animated the frame, to which the inhalations of
the elixir had given vigor and energy beyond the strength
of the strongest, could have survived that awful hour.
Better to wake in the catacombs and see the buried rise
from their cerements, and hear the ghouls, in their horrid
orgies, amongst the festering ghastliness of corruption,
than to front those features when the veil was lifted, and
listen to that whispered voice !

******

The next day, Glyndon fled from the ruined castle.
With what hopes of starry light had he crossed the thres-
hold ; with what memories to shudder evermore at the
darkness, did he look back at the frown of its time-worn
towers.

112 ^ ZANONI.

CHAPTER II.

Faust. Woliin soil es nun gehn?
Mephist. Wohin es Dir geflillt.

Wir sehn die kleine, dann die grosse Welt.*

Faust.

Draw your chair to the fireside, brush clean the hearth,
and trim the lights. Oh, home of sleekness, order, sub-
stance, comfort I Oh, excellent thing art thou. Matter of
Fact!

It is some time after the date of the last chapter. Here
we are, not in moonlit islands, or mouldering castles, but
in a room twenty-six feet by twenty-two — well carpeted
— well cushioned — solid arm-chairs, and eight such bad
pictures, in such fine frames, upon the walls ! Thomas
Mervale, Esq., merchant, of London, you are an enviable
dog ! -

It was the easiest thing in the world for Mervale, on
returning from his continental episode of life, to settle
down to his desk — his heart had been always there. The
death of his father gave him, as a birth-right, a high
position in a respectable, though second-rate firm. To
make this establishment first-rate, was an honorable ambi-
tion— it was his! He had lately married, not entirely

* F. Whither go now ?

M, Whither it pleases thee.

We see the small world, then the great.

ZANONT. 113

for money — no ! he was worldly rather than mercenary.
He had no romantic ideas of love ; but he was too sensible
a man not to know that a wife should be a companion —
not merely a speculation. He did not care for beauty
and genius, but he liked health and good temper, and a
certain proportion of useful understanding. He chose a
w^ife from his reason, not his heart, and a very good choice
he made. Mrs. Mervale was an excellent young woman
— bustling, managing, economical, but affectionate and
good. She had a will of her own, but was no shrew.
She had a great notion of the rights of a wife, and a
strong perception of the qualities that insure comfort.
She would never have forgiven her husband, had she found
him guilty of the most passing fancy for another ; but,
in return, she had the most admirable sense of propriety
herself. She held in abhorrence all levity, all flirtation,
all coquetry — small vices, which often ruin domestic
happiness, but which a giddy nature incurs without con-
sideration. But she did not think it right to love a hus-
band over-much. She left a surplus of affection for all
her relations, all her friends, some of her acquaintances,
and the possibility of a second marriage, should any
accident happen to Mr. M. She kept a good table, for
it suited their station ; and her temper was considered
even, though firm ; but she could say a sharp thing or
two, if Mr. Mervale was not punctual to a moment. She
was very particular that he should change his shoes on
coming home — the carpets were new and expensive She
was not sulky, nor passionate — Heaven bless her for that I

10* H

114 ZANONI.

— but when displeased she showed it, administered a
dignified rebuke — alluded to her own virtues — to her
uncle, who was an admiral, and to the thirty thousand
pounds which she had brought to the object of her choice.
But as Mr. Mervale was a good-humored man, owned his
faults, and subscribed to her excellence, the displeasure
was soon over.

Every household has its little disagreements, none fewer
than that of Mr. and Mrs. Mervale. Mrs. Mervale, with-
out being improperly fond of dress, paid due attention to
it. She was never seen out of her chamber with papers
in her hair, nor in that worst of dis-illusions — a morning
wrapper. At half-past eight every morning, Mrs. Mervale
was dressed for the day — that is, till she re-dressed for
dinner; — her stays well laced — her cap prime, — her gowns,
winter and summer, of a thick, handsome silk. Ladies at
that time wore very short waists ; so did Mrs. Mervale.
Her morning ornaments were a thick gold chain, to which
was suspended a gold watch — none of those fragile dwarfs
of mechanism, that look so pretty, and go so ill — but a
handsome repeater, which chronicled Father Time to a
moment ; also a mosaic brooch ; also a miniature of her
uncle, the admiral, set in a bracelet. For the evening,
she had two handsome sets — necklace, ear-rings, and
bracelets complete — one of amethysts, the other topazes.
With these, her costume for the most part was a gold-
colored satin and a turban, in which last her picture had
been taken. Mrs. Mervale had an aquiline nose, good
teeth, fair hair, and light eye-lashes, rather a high com-

ZANONI. 115

plexion, what is generally called a fine bust, full cheeks,
large useful feet, made for walking, large white hands,
with filbert nails, on which not a speck of dust had, even
in childhood, ever been known to alight. She looked a
little older than she really was ; but that might arise from
a certain air of dignity and the aforesaid aquiline nose.
She generally wore short mittens. She never read any
poetry but Goldsmith's and Cowper's. She was not
amused by novels, though she had no prejudice against
them. She liked a play and a pantomime, with a slight
supper afterwards. She did not like concerts nor operas.
At the beginning of the winter she selected some book
to read, and some piece of v/ork to commence. The two
lasted her till the spring, when, though she continued to
work, she left off reading. Her favorite study was his-
tory, which she read through the medium of Dr. Gold-
smith. Her favorite author in the belles lettres was, of
course. Dr. Johnson. A worthier woman, or one more
respected, was not to be found, except in an epitaph !

It was an autumn night. Mr. and Mrs. Mervale, lately
returned from an excursion to Weymouth, are in the
drawing-room — "the dame sat on this side — the man
sat on that."

" Yes, I assure you, my dear, that Glyndon, with all
his eccentricities, was a very engaging, amiable fellow.
You would certainly have liked him — all the women
did."

"My dear Thomas, you will forgive the remark — but
that expression of yours — ' all the luomen ' "

116 ZANONI.

"I beg your pardon — you are riglit. I meant to say
that he was a general favorite with your charming sex."

''I understand — rather a frivolous character."

"Frivolous I no, not exactly; a little unsteady — very
odd — but certainly not frivolous; presumptuous and
headstrong in character, but modest and shy in his man-
ners, rather too much so — just what you like. However,
to return; I am seriously uneasy, at the accounts I have
heard of him to-day. He has been living, it seems, a
very strange and irregular life, travelling from place to
place, and must have spent already a great deal of money."

"Apropos of money," said Mrs. Mervale ; "I fear we
must change our butcher ; he is certainly in league with
the cook."

*' That is a pity; his beef is remarkably fine. These
London servants are as bad as the Carbonari. But, as I
was saying, poor Glyndon-— — "

Here a knock was heard at the door. " Bless me,"
said Mrs. Mervale, "it is past ten ! Who can that pos-
sibly be ? "

" Perhaps your uncle, the admiral," said the husband,
with a slight peevishness in his accent. " He generally
favors us about this hour."

" I hope, my love, that none of my relations are un-
welcome visitors at your house. The admiral is a most
entertaining man, and his fortune is entirely at his own
disposal."

" No one I respect more," said Mr. Mervale, with
emphasis.

ZANONI. lit

The servant threw open the door, and announced Mr.
Glyndon.

"Mr. Glyndon! — what an extraordinary " ex-
claimed Mrs. Mervale ; but before she could conclude the
sentence, Glyndon was in the room

The two friends greeted each other with all the warmth
of early recollection and long absence. An appropriate
and proud presentation to Mrs. Mervale ensued ; and
Mrs. Mervale, with a dignified smile, and a furtive glance
at his boots, bade her husband's friend welcome to England.

Glyndon was greatly altered since Mervale had seen
him last. Though less than two years had elapsed since
then, his fair complexion was more bronzed and manly.
Deep lines of care, or thought, or dissipation, had re-
placed the smooth contour of happy youth. To a man-
ner once gentle and polished, had succeeded a certain
recklessness of mien, tone, and bearing, which bespoke
the habits of a society that cared little for the calm de-
corums of conventional ease. Still a kind of wild noble-
ness, not before apparent in him, characterized his aspect,
and gave something of dignity to the freedom of his
language and gestures.

*' So, then, you are settled, Mervale — I need not ask
you if you are happy. Worth, sense, wealth, character,
and so fair a companion, deserve happiness, and com-
mand it."

''Would you like some tea, Mr. Glyndon ? " asked Mrs.
Mervale, kindly.

" Thank you — no. I propose a more convivial stimulus

118 ZANONI.

to my old friend. Wine, Mervale — wine, eh! — or a
bowl of old English punch. Your wife will excuse us —
we will make a night of it ! "

Mrs. Mervale drew back her chair, and tried not to
look aghast. Glyndon did not give his friend time to
reply.

" So at last I am in England," he said, looking ronnd
the room, with a slight sneer on his lips; "surely this
sober air must have its influence ; surely here I shall be
like the rest."

''Have you been ill, Glyndon?"

" 111 ! yes. Humph I you have a fine house. Does it
contain a spare room for a solitary wanderer?"

Mr. Mervale glanced at his wife, and his wife looked
steadily on the carpet. " Modest and shy in his manners
— rather too much so ! " Mrs. Mervale was in the seventh
heaven of indignation and amaze !

" My dear ? " said Mr. Mervale at last, meekly and in-
terrogatingly.

" My dear ! " returned Mrs. Mervale, innocently and
sourly.

"We can make up a room for my old friend, Sarah ?"

The old friend had sunk back on his chair; and, gazing
intently on the fire, with his feet at ease upon the fender,
seemed to have forgotten his question.

Mrs. Mervale bit her lips, looked thoughtful, and at last
coldly replied — " Certainly, Mr. Mervale ; your friends
do right to make themselves at home."

With that she lighted a candle, and moved majestically

ZANONI. 119

from the room. When she returned, the two friends had
vanished into Mr. Mervale's study.

Twelve o'clock struck — one o'clock — two! Thrice
had Mrs. Mervale sent into the room to know — first, if
they wanted anything ; secondly, if Mr. Glyndon slept on
a mattress or feather bed ; thirdly, to inquire if Mr.
Glyndon's trunk, which he had brought with him, should
be unpacked. And to the answer to all these questions,
was added, in a loud voice from the visitor — a voice that
pierced from the kitchen to the attic — "Another bowl!
stronger, if you please, and be quick with it ! "

At last Mr. Mervale appeared in the conjugal chamber

— not penitent, not apologetic — no, not a bit of it. His
eyes twinkled, his cheek flushed, his feet reeled ; he sung

— Mr. Thomas Mervale positively sung !

" Mr. Mervale ! is it possible, sir! "

'< ' Old King Cole was a merry old soul '"

'' Mr. Mervale ! sir! — leave me alone, sir!"

" 'And a merry old soul was he ' "'

" What an example to the servants ! "
" 'And he called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl
"If you don't behave yourself, sir, I shall call-
"'Call for his fiddler's three!'"

120 ZANONI.

CHAPTER III.

In der Welt weit,
Aus der Einsamkeit
Wollen sie Dich locken.*
Faust.

The next morning, at breakfast, Mrs. Mervale looked
as if all the wrongs of injured woman sat upon her brow.
Mr. Mervale seemed the picture of remorseful guilt and
avenging bile. He said little, except to complain of
headache, and to request the eggs to be removed from
the table. Clarence Glyndon — impervious, unconscious,
unailing, impenitent — was in noisy spirits, and talked
for three.

" Poor Mervale ! he has lost the habit of good fellow-
ship, madam. Another night or two, and he will be him-
self again ! "

*' Sir," said Mrs. Mervale, launching a premeditated
sentence with more than Johnsonian dignity ; *' permit
me to remind you that Mr. Mervale is now a married
man, the destined father of a family, and the present
master of a household."

" Precisely the reasons why I envy him so much. I
myself have a great mind to marry. Happiness is con-
tagious."

* In the wide world, out of the solitude, will these allure thee.

ZANONI. 121

"Do you still take to painting ?" asked Mervale, lan-
guidly, endeavoring to turn the tables on his guest.

" Oh, no ; I have adopted your advice. No art, no
ideal — nothing loftier than Common-place for me now.
If I were to paint again, I positively think you would
purchase my pictures. Make haste and finish your break-
fast, man ; I wish to consult you. I have come to England
to see after my affairs. My ambition is to make money ;
your counsels and experience cannot fail to assist me here."

"Ah ! you were soon disenchanted of your Philosopher's
stone. You must know, Sarah, that when I last left Glyn-
don, he was bent upon turning alchemist and magician. "

"You are witty to-day, Mr. Mervale."

"Upon my honor it is true. I told you so before."

Glyndon rose abruptly.

"Why revive those recollections of folly and presump-
tion ? Have I not said that I have returned to my native
land to pursue the healthful avocations of ray kind ! O
yes ! what so healthful, so noble, so fitted to our nature,
as what you call the Practical Life ? If we have faculties,
what is their use, but to sell them to advantage ! Buy
knowledge as we do our goods ; buy it at the cheapest
market, sell it at the dearest. Have you not breakfasted
yet ? "

The friends walked into the streets, and Mervale shrunk
from the irony with which Glyndon complimented him on
his respectability, his station, his pursuits, his happy mar-
riage, and his eight pictures in their handsome frames.
Formerly the sober Mervale had commanded an influence

II.— II

122 Z AN ONI.

over bis friend : his had been the sarcasm ; Glyndon's the
irresolute shame at his own peculiarities. Xow this position
was reversed. There was a fierce earnestness in Glyndon's
altered temper, which awed and silenced the quiet common-
place of his friend's character. He seemed to take a
malignant delight in persuading himself that the sober
life of the world was contemptible and base.

"Ah ! " he exclaimed, " how right you were to tell me to
marry respectably ; to have a solid position ; to live in
decorous fear of the world and one's wife ; and to command
the envy of the poor, the good opinion of the rich ! You
have practised what you preach. Delicious existence !
The merchant's desk, and the curtain lecture ! Ha ! ha !
Shall we have another night of it?"

Mervale, embarrassed and irritated, turned the conver-
sation upon Glyndon's affairs.- He was surprised at the
knowledge of the world which the artist seemed to have
suddenly acquired ; surprised still more at the acuteness
and energy with which he spoke of the speculations most
in vogue at the market. Yes ; Glyndon was certainly in
earnest ; he desired to be rich and respectable, — and to
make at least ten per cent, for his money !

After spending some days with tlie merchant, during
which time he contrived to disorganize all the mechanism
of the house, to turn night into day, harmony into discord,
to drive poor Mrs. Mervale half-distracted, and to convince
her husband that he was horibly hen-pecked, the ill-
omened visitor left them as suddenly as h^ had arrived.
He took a house of his own ; he sought the society of

ZANONI. 123

persons of substance ; he devoted himself to the money-
market ; he seemed to have become a man of business ;
his schemes were bold and colossal ; his calculations rapid
and profound. He startled Mervale by his energy, and
dazzled him by his success. Mervale began to envy him
— to be discontented with his own regular and slow gains.
When Glyndon bought or sold in the funds, wealth rolled
upon him like the tide of a sea ; what years of toil could
not have done for him in art, a few months, by a succession
of lucky chances, did for him in speculation. Suddenly,
however, he relaxed his exertions ; new objects of ambition
seemed to attract him. If he heard a drum in the streets,
what glory like the soldier's ? If a new poem were pub-
lished, what renown like the poet's ? He began works in
literature, which promised great excellence, to throw them
aside in disgust. All at once he abandoned the decorous
and formal soxiiety he had courted ; he joined himself with
young and riotous associcites : he plunged into the wilaest
excesses of the great city, where Gold reigns alike over
Toil and Pleasure. Through all, he carried with him a
certain power and heat of soul. In all society he aspired
to command — in all pursuits to excel. Yet whatever
the passion of the moment, the reaction was terrible in
its gloom. He sunk, at times, into the most profound
and the darkest reveries. His fever was that of a mind
that would escape memory — his repose, that of a mind
which the memory seizes again, and devours as a prey.
Mervale now saw little of him ; they shunned each other.
Glyndon had no confidant, and no friend. .

124 ZANONI.

CHAPTER lY.

Ich fiilile Dich mir nahe;

Die Einsamkeit belebt;
Wie iiber seinen Welten

Der Unsichtbare schwebt.*
Uhland.

From this state of restlessness and agitation rather than
continuous action, Glyndon was aroused by a visitor who
seemed to exercise the most salutary influence over him.
His sister, an orphan with himself, had resided in the
country with her aunt. In the early years of hope and
home, he had loved this girl, much younger than himself,
with all a brother's tenderness. On his return to England,
he had seemed to forget her existence. She recalled herself
to him on her aunt's death by a touching and melancholy
letter ; — she had now no home but his — no dependence
save on his affection : he wept when he read it, and was
inpatient till Adela arrived.

This girl, then about eighteen, concealed beneath a
gentle and calm exterior much of the romance or enthu-
siasm that had, at her own age, characterized her brother.
But her enthusiasm was of a far purer order, and was

* I feel tliee near to me ;

The loneliness takes life —
As over its world
The Invisible hovers.

Z AN ONI. 125

restrained within proper bounds, partly by the sweetness
of a very feminine nature, and partly by a strict and me-
thodical education. She differed from him especially in
a timidity of character, which exceeded that usual at her
age, but which the habit of self-command concealed no
less carefully, than that timidity itself concealed the romance
I have ascribed to her.

Adela was not handsome ; she had the complexion and
the form of delicate health ; and too fine an organization
of the nerves rendered her susceptible to every impression
that could influence the health of the frame through the
sympathy of the mind. But as she never complained, and
as the singular serenity of her manners seemed to betoken
an equanimity of temperament which, with the vulgar,
might have passed for indifference, her sufferings had so
long been borne unnoticed, that it ceased to be an effort
to disguise them. Though, as I have said, not handsome,
her countenance was interesting and pleasing ; and there
was that caressing kindness, that winning charm about
her smile, her manners, her anxiety to please, to comfort,
and to soothe, which went at once to the heart, and made
her lovely — because so loving.

Such was the sister whom Glyndon had so long ne-
glected, and whom he now so cordially welcomed. Adela
had passed many years a victim to the caprices, and a
nurse to the maladies of a selfish and exacting relation.
The delicate, and generous, and respectful affection of her
brother was no less new to her than delightful. He took

pleasure in the happiness he created ; he gradually weaned
11*

126 ZANONI.

himself from other society ; he felt the Charm of Home.
It is not surprising then, that this young creature, free
and virgin from every more ardent attachment, concen-
trated all her grateful love on this cherished and protecting
relative. Her study by day, her dream by night, was to
repay him for his affection. She was proud of his talents,
devoted to his welfare ; the smallest trifle that could in-
terest him swelled in her eyes to the gravest affairs of life.
In short, all the long-hoarded enthusiasm, which was her
perilous and only heritage, she invested in this one object
of her holy tenderness, her pure ambition.

But in proportion as Glyndon shunned those excitements
by which he had so long sought to occupy his time, or
distract his thoughts, the gloom of his calmer hours became
deeper and more continuous. He ever and especially
dreaded to be alone ; he could not bear his new companion
to be absent from his eyes ; he rode with her, walked with
her, and it was with visible reluctance, which almost par-
took of horror, that he retired to rest at an hour when
even revel grows fatigued. This gloom was not that which
could be called by the soft name of melancholy — it was
far moue intense : it seemed rather like despair. Often
after a silence as of death, — so heavy, abstracted, motion-
less, did it appear, — he would start abruptly, and cast
hurried glances around him — his limbs trembling, his lips
livid, his brows bathed in dew. Convinced that some
secret sorrow preyed upon his mind, and would consume
his health, it was the dearest as the most natural desire
of Adela to become his confidant and consoler. She ob-

Z AN ONI. lat

served, with the quick tact of the delicate, that he disliked
her to seem affected by, or even sensible of, his darker
moods. She schooled herself to suppress her fears and
her feelings. She would not ask his confidence — she
sought to steal into it. By little and little, she felt that
she was succeeding. Too wrapt in his own strange exist-
ence to be acutely observant of the character of others,
Glyndon mistook the self-content of a generous and hum-
ble affection for constitutional fortitude ; and this quality
pleased and soothed him. It is fortitude that the diseased
mind requires in the confidant whom it selects as its phy-
sician. And how irresistible is that desire to communi-
cate ! How often the lonely man thought to himself, "My
heart would be lightened of its misery, if once confessed ! "
He felt, too, that in the very youth, the inexperience, the
poetical temperament of Adela, he could find one who
would comprehend and bear wdth him better than any
sterner and more practical nature. Mervale would have
looked on his revelations as the ravings of madness, and
most men, at best, as the sicklied chimeras, the optical
delusions, of disease. Thus gradually preparing himself
for that relief for which he yearned, the moment for his
disclosure arrived thus : —

One evening, as they sat alone together, Adela, who
inherited some portion of her brother's talent in art, was
employed in drawing, and Glyndon, rousing himself from
meditations less gloomy than usual, rose, and affection-
ately passing his arm round her waist, looked over her as
she sat. An exclamation of dismay broke from his lips —

128 Z AN ONI.

he snatched the drawing from her hand: "What are you
about ? — what portrait is this ? "

" Dear Clarence, do you not remember the original ? —
it is a copy from that portrait of our wise ancestor which
our poor mother used to say so strongly resembled you.
I thought it would please you if I copied it from memory."

" Accursed was the likeness ! " said Glyndon, gloomily.
" Guess you not the reason why I have shunned to return
to the home of my fathers ? — because I dreaded to meet
that portrait ! — because ■ — because — but pardon me — I
alarm you ! "

" Ah, no — no, Clarence, you never alarm me when you
speak, only when you are silent ! Oh, if you thought me
worthy of your trust ! oh, if you had given me the right
to reason with you in the sorrows that I yearn to share ! "

Glyndon made no answer, but paced the room for some
moments with disordered strides. He stopped at last, and
gazed at her earnestly. " Yes, you, too, are his descend-
ant ! you know that such men have lived and suffered —
you will not mock me— you will not disbelieve ! Listen I
hark ! — what sound is that ? "

"But the wind on the house-top, Clarence — but the
wind.''

" Give me your hand, let me feel its living clasp, and
when I have told you, never I'evert to the tale again.
Conceal jt from all — swear that it shall die with us — the
last of our predestined race ! "

" Never will I betray your trust — I swear it — never !"
said Adela, firmly ; and she drew closer to his side : Then

/

ZANONT. 129

Glyndon commenced his story. That which, perhaps in
writing and to minds prepared to question and disbelieve,
may seem cold and terrorless, became far different when
told by those blanched lips, with all that truth of suffering
which convinces and appals. Much, indeed, he concealed,
much he involuntarily softened ; but he revealed enough
to make his tale intelligible and distinct to his pale and
trembling listener. "At daybreak," he said, ''I left that
unhallowed and abhorred abode. I had one hope still —
I would seek Mejnour through the world. I would force
him to lay at rest the fiend that haunted my soul. With
this intent I journeyed from city to city. I instituted the
most vigilant researches through the police of Italy. I
even employed the services of the Inquisition at Rome,
which had lately asserted its ancient powers in the trial
of the less dangerous Cagliostro. All was in vain ; not
a trace of him could be discovered. I was not alone,
Adela." Here Glyndon paused a moment, as if em-
barrassed ; for in his recital, I need scarcely say that he
had only indistinctly alluded to Fillide, whom the reader
may surmise to be his companion. " I was not alone,
but the associate of my wanderings was not one in whom
my soul could confide — faithful and affectionate, but with-
out education, without faculties to comprehend me, with
natural instincts rather than cultivated reason — one in
whom the heart might lean in its careless hours, but with
whom the mind could have no commune, in whom the
bewildered spirit could seek no guide. Yet in the society
of this person the daemon troubled me not. Let me ex-

130 ZANONI.

plain yet more fully the dread conditions of its presence.
In coarse excitement, in common-place life, in the wild
riot, in the fierce excess, in the torpid lethargy of that
animal existence which we share with the brutes, its eyes
were invisible, its whisper was unheard. But whenever
the soul would aspire, whenever the imagination kindled
to the loftier ends, whenever the consciousness of our
proper destiny struggled against the unworthy life I pur-
sued, then — Adela', then, it cowered by my side in the
light of noon, or sat by mj bed — a Darkness visible
through the Dark. If, in the galleries of Divine Art, the
dreams of my youth woke the early emulation — if I turned
to the thoughts of sages — if the example of the great, if
the converse of the wise, aroused the silenced intellect,
the daemon was with me as by a spell. At last, one even-
ing at Genoa, to which city I had travelled in pursuit of
the Mystic, suddenly, and when least expected, he ap-
peared before me. It was the time of the Carnival. It
was in one of those half-frantic scenes of noise and revel,
call it not gaiety, which establish a heathen saturnalia in
the midst of a Christian festival. Wearied with the dance,
I had entered a room in which several revellers were
seated, drinking, singing, shouting ; and in their fantastic
dresses and hideous masks, their orgie seemed scarcely
human. I placed myself amongst them, and in that fearful
excitement of the spirits which the happy never know, I
was soon the most riotous of all. The conversation fell
on the Kevolution of France, which had always possessed
for me an absorbing fascination. The masks spoke of the

ZANONI. 131

millennium it was to bring on earth, not as philosophers
rejoicing in the advent of light, but as ruffians exulting
in the annihilation of law. I know not why it was, but
their licentious language . infected myself; and, always
desirous to be foremost in every circle, I soon exceeded
even these rioters in declamations on the nature of the
liberty which was about to embrace all the families of the
globe — a liberty that should pervade not only public leg-
islation, but domestic life — an emancipation from every
fetter that men had forged for themselves. In the midst
of this tirade, one of the masks whispered me —

" ' Take care. One listens to you, who seems to be a
spy!'

*'My eyes followed those of the mask, and.I observed
a man who took no part in the conversation, but whose
gaze was bent upon me. He was disguised like the rest,
yet I found by a general whisper that none had observed
him enter. His silence, his attention, had alarmed the
fears of the other revellers — they only excited me the
more. Rapt in my subject, I pursued it, insensible to the
signs of those about me ; and, addressing myself only to
the silent mask who sat alone, apart from the group, I did
not even observe that, one by one, the revellers slunk oft',
and that I and the silent listener were left alone, until,
pausing from my heated and impetuous declamations, I
said —

" 'And you, signer, — what is your view of this mighty
era ? Opinion without persecution — brotherhood without
jealousy — love without bondage- '

132 Z ANON I.

" 'And life without God,' added the mask, as I hesitated
for new imas^es.

"The sound of that well-known voice changed the
current of my thought. I sprung forward, and cried —

" ' Impostor or Fiend, we meet at last ! '

" The figure rose as I advanced, and, unmasking, showed
the features of Mejnour. His fixed eye — his majestic
aspect, awed and repelled me. I stood rooted to the
ground.

" ' Yes,' he said, solemnly, ' we meet, and it is this meet-
ing that I have sought. How hast thou followed my
admonitions ! Are these the scenes in which the Aspirant
for the Serene Science thinks to escape the Ghastly
Enemy ? Do the thoughts thou hast uttered — thoughts
that would strike all order from the universe — express
the hopes of the sage who would rise to the Harmony of
the Eternal Spheres ? '

" ' It is thy fault — it is thine ! ' I exclaimed. ' Exor-
cise the phantom ! Take the haunting terror from my
soul ! '

" Mejnour looked at me a moment with a cold and

cynical disdain, which provoked at once my fear and rage,

and replied —

'' ' So, fool of thine own senses I 'No ; thou must have

o
full and entire experience of the illusions to which the

Knowledge that is without Faith climbs its Titan way.

Thou pantest fo»* this Millennium — thou shalt behold it !

Thou shalt be one of the agents of the era of Light and

Reason. I see, while I speak, the Phantom thou fliest,

Z AN ONI. 133

by thy side — it marshals thy path — it has power over
thee as yet — a power that defies my own. In the last
days of that Kevolution which thou hailest, amidst the
wrecks of the Order thou cursest as Oppression, seek the
fulfilment of thy destiny, and await thy cure.'

"At that instant a troop of masks, clamorous, intoxi-
cated, reeling, and rushing as they reeled, poured into the
room, and separated me from the Mystic. I broke through
them, and sought him everywhere, but in vain. All ray
researches the next day were equally fruitless. Weeks
were consumed in the same pursuit — not a trace of Mej-
uour could be discovered. Wearied with false pleasures,
roused by reproaches I had deserved, recoiling from Mej-
nour's prophecy of the scene in which I was to seek de-
liverance, it occurred to me, at last, that in the sober air
of my native country, and amidst its orderly and vigorous
pursuits, I might work out my own emancipation from
the spectre. I left all whom I had before courted and
clung to ; — I came hither. Amidst mercenary schemes
and selfish speculations, I found the same relief as in
debauch and excess. The Phantom was invisible ; but
these pursuits soon became to me distasteful as the rest.
Ever and ever I felt that I was born for something nobler
than the greed of gain — that life may be made equally
worthless, and the soul equally degraded by the icy lust
of Avarice, as by the noisier passions. A higher Ambi-
tion never ceased to torment me. But, but," — continued
Glyndon, with a whitening lip and a visible shudder, " at
every attempt to nse into loftier existence, came that

II. — 12

134 Z AN ONI.

hideous form. It gloomed beside me at the easel. Before
the volumes of Poet and Sage it stood with its burning
eyes in the stillness of night, and I thought I heard its
horrible whispers uttering temptations never to be di-
vulged." He paused, and the drops stood upon his brow.

"But T," said Adela, mastering her fears, and throwing
her arms around him — "But I henceforth will have no
life but in thine. And in this love, so pure, so holy, thy
terror shall fade away."

" No, no ! " exclaimed Glyudon, starting from her.
" The worst revelation is to come. Since thou hast been
here — since I have sternly and resolutely refrained from
every haunt, every scene in which this preternatural enemy
troubled me not, I — I — have — Oh, Heaven ! Mercy — ■
mercy ! There it stands — there, by thy side — there — ■
there ! " And he fell to the ground insensible.

CHAPTER Y.

Doch wunderbar ergriff micb's diese Nacht;
Die Glieder schienen schon in Todes Macht.*

Uhlani).

A FEVER, attended with delirium, for several days de-
prived Glyndon of consciousness ; and when, by Adela's
care, more than the skill of the physicians, he was restored

* This night it fearfully seized on me ; my limbs appeared al-
ready in the power of death.

ZANONI. 135

to life and reason, he was unutterably shocked by the
change in his sister's appearance ; at first, he fondly
imagined that her health, affected by her vigils, would
recover with his own. But he soon saw, with an anguish
which partook of remorse, that the malady was deep-
seated — deep, deep, beyond the reach of ^sculapius and
his drugs. Her imagination, little less lively than his own,
was awfully impressed by the strange confessions she had
heard, — by the ravings of his delirium. Again and again,
had he shrieked forth, "It is there — there, by thy side,
my sister ! " He had transferred to her fancy the spectre,
and the horror that cursed himself. He perceived this,
not by her words, but her silence — by the eyes that
strained into space — by the shiver that came over her
frame — by the start of terror — by the look that did not
dare to turn behind. Bitterly he repented his confession
. — bitterly he felt that between his sufferings and human
sympathy, there could be no gentle and holy commune ;
vainly he sought to retract — to undo what he had done —
to declare all was but the chimera of an over-heated brain !
And brave and generous was this denial of himself; for,
often and often, as he thus spoke, he saw the Thing of
Dread gliding to her side, and glaring at him as he dis-
owned its being. But what chilled him, if possible, yet
more than her wasting form and trembling nerves, was
the change in her love for him ; a natural terror had re-
placed it. She turned paler if he approached — she shud-
dered if he took her hand. Divided from the rest of earth,
the gulf of the foul remembrance yawned now between

136 ZANONI.

his sister and himself. He could endure no more the
presence of the one whose life his life had embittered. He
made some excuses for departure, and writhed to see that
they were greeted eagerly. The first gleam of joy he had
detected, since that fatal night, on Adela's face, he beheld
when he murmured " Farewell. " He travelled for some
weeks through the wildest parts of Scotland ; scenery,
which makes the artist, was loveless to his haggard eyes.
A letter recalled him to London, on the wings of new
agony and fear ; he arrived to find his sister in a condition
both of mind and health which exceeded his worst appre-
hensions.

Her vacant look — her lifeless posture, appalled him ; it
was as one who gazed on the Medusa's head, and felt,
without a struggle, the human being gradually harden to
the statue. It was not frenzy, it was not idiotcy — it was
an abstraction, an apathy, a sleep in waking. Only as the
night advanced towards the eleventh hour, — the hour in
which Glyndon had concluded his tale, — she grew visibly
uneasy, anxious, and perturbed. Then her lips muttered,
her hands writhed ; she looked round with a look of ua-
speakable appeal for succor — for protection; and sud-
denly, as the clock struck, fell with a shriek to the ground,
cold and lifeless. With difficulty, and not until after the
most earnest prayers, did she answer the agonized ques-
tions of Glyndon ; at last she owned that at that hour,
and that hour alone, wherever she was placed, however
occupied, she distinctly beheld the apparition of an old
hag ; who, after thrice knocking at the door, entered the

ZANONI. 13*r

room, and hobbling up to her, with a countenance dis-
torted by hideous rage and menace, laid its icy fingers on
her forehead ; from that moment she declared that sense
forsook her ; and when she woke again, it was only to
wait, in suspense that froze up her blood, the repetition
of the ghastly visitation.

The physician who had been summoned before Glyn-
don's return, and whose letter had recalled him to London,
was a common-place practitioner ; ignorant of the case,
and honestly anxious that one more experienced should
be employed. Clarence called in one of the most eminent
of the faculty, and to him he recited the optical delusion
of his sister. The physician listened attentively, and
seemed sanguine in his hopes of cure. He came to the
house two hours before the one so dreaded by the patient.
He had quietly arranged that the clocks should be put
forward half an hour, unknown to Adela, and even to her
brother. He was a man of the most extraordinary powers
of conversation, of surpassing wit, of all the faculties that
interest and amuse. He first administered to the patient
a harmless potion, which he pledged himself would dispel
the delusion. His confident tone woke her own hopes —
he continued to excite her attention, to rouse her lethargy ;
he jested, he laughed away the time. The hour struck.
'' Joy, my brother ! " she exclaimed, throwing herself in
his arms; "the time is past!" And then, like one re-
leased from a spell, she suddenly assumed more than her
ancient cheerfulness. " Ah, Clarence ! " she whispered,
" forgive me for my former desertion — forgive me that I
12*

138 ZANONI.

feared you. I shall live ! — I shall live ! in my turn to
banish the spectre that haunts my brother I " And Clar-
ence smiled and wiped the tears from his burning eyes.
The physician renewed his stories, his jests. In the midst
of a stream of rich humor, that seemed to carry away both
brother and sister, Glyndon suddenly saw over Adela's
face the same fearful change, the same anxious look, the
same restless, straining eye, he had beheld the night be-
fore. He rose — he approached her. Adela started up.
" Look — look — look ! " she exclaimed. " She comes !
Save me — save me !" and she fell at his feet in strong
convulsions ; as the clock, falsely and in vain put back,
struck the half-hour.

The physician lifted her in his arms. " My worst fears
are confirmed," he said gravely ; " the disease is epilepsy."**

The next night, at the same hour, Adela Glyndon died.

CHAPTER YI.

La loi, dont le regne vous epouvante, a sou glaive Jeve sur vous:
elle vous frappera tous : le genre humain a besoin de cet exem-

ple.f COUTHON.

" Oh, joy, joy ! — thou art come again I This is thy

* The most celebrated practitioner in Dublin related to the Editor
a story of optical delusion, precisely similar in its circumstances
and its physical cause, to the one here narrated.

•j-The law, whose reign terrifies you, has its sword raised against
you ; it will strike you all ; humanity has need of this example.

ZANONI. 139

hand — these thy lips. Say that thou didst not desert
me from the love of another ; say it again — say it ever I
— and I will pardon thee all the rest!"

"So thou hast mourned for me?"

'' Mourned ! — and thou wert cruel enough to leave me
gold — there it is — there — untouched ! "

" Poor child of Nature ! how, then, in this strange
town of Marseilles, hast thou found bread and shelter ? ''

" Honestly, soul of my soul ! honestly, but yet by the
face thou didst once think so fair : thinkest thou that
now?"

" Yes, Fillide, more fair than ever. But what meanest
thou ? "

"There is a painter here — a great man, one of their
great men at Paris — I know not what they call them ;
but he rules over all here — life and death ; and he has
paid me largely but to sit for my portrait. It is for a
picture to be given to the Nation, for he paints only for
glory. Think of thy Fillide's renown ! " And the girl's
wild eyes sparkled ; her vanity was roused. "And he
would have married me if I would ! — divorced his wife
to marry me ! But I waited for thee, ungrateful ! "

A knock at the door was heard — a man entered.

" Nicot ! "

"Ah, Glyndon ! — hum ! — welcome ! What ! thou art
twice my rival ! But Jean Nicot bears no malice. Yirtue
is my dream — my country — my mistress. Serve my
country, citizen ; and I forgive thee the preference of
beauty. Ga ira! ga ira!^^

140 ZANONI.

But as the painter spoke, it hymned, it rolled through
the streets — the fiery song of the Marseillaise! There
was a crowd — a multitude — a people up, abroad, with
colors and arms, enthusiasm and song ; — with song, with
enthusiasm, with colors and arms ! And who could guess
that that martial movement was one, not of war, but
massacre — Frenchmen against Frenchmen ? For there
are two parties in Marseilles — and ample work for Jour-
dan Coupe-tete ! But this, the Englishman, just arrived,
a stranger to all factions, did not as yet comprehend. He
comprehended nothing but the song, the enthusiasm, the
arms, and the colors that lifted to the sun the glorious
lie — "Xe peuple Francais, dehoiit contre les iyrans!^^^

The dark brow of the wretched wanderer grew anima-
ted ; he gazed from the window on the throng that marched
below, beneath their waving Oriflame.' They shouted as
they beheld the patriot Nicot, the friend of Liberty and
relentless Hebert, by the stranger's side, at the casement.

"Ay, shout again ! " cried the painter — " shout for the
brave Englishman who abjures his Pitts and his Coburgs
to be a citizen of Liberty and France I "

A thousand voices rent the air, and the hymn of the
Mars-eiJlaise rose in majesty again.

" Well, and if it be among these high hopes and this
brave people that the phantom is to vanish, and the cure
to come ! " muttered Glyndon ; and he thought he felt
again the elixir sparkling through his veins.

" Thou shalt be one of the convention with Paine and
* Up, Freuchmen, against tyrants.

ZANONI. 141

Clootz — I will manage it all for thee ! " cried Nicot,
slapping him on the shoulder; ''and Paris "

"Ah, if I could but see Paris ! " cried Fillide, in her
joyous voice. Joyous ! the whole time, the town, the air
— save where, unheard, rose the cry of agony and the yell
of murder — were joy! Sleep unhaunting in thy grave,
cold Adela. J oy, joy ! In the Jubilee of Humanity, all
private griefs should cease ! Behold, wild Mariner, the
vast whirpool draws thee to its stormy bosom. There the
individual is not. All things are of the whole ! Open
thy gates, fair Paris, for the stranger-citizen ! Receive
in your ranks, 0 meek Republicans, the new champion
of liberty, of reason, of mankind ! " Mejnour is right ;
it was in virtue, in valor, in glorious struggle for the
human race, that the spectre was to shrink to her kindred
darkness."

And Nicot's shrill voice praised him ; and lean Robes-
pierre— "Flambeau, colonne, pierre angulaire de I'edifice
de la Republique " * — smiled ominously on him from his
bloodshot eyes ; and Fillide clasped him with passionate
arms to her tender breast. And at his up-rising and
down-sitting, at board and in bed, though he saw it not,
the Nameless One guided him with the daemon eyes to the
sea, whose waves were gore.

* " The light, column, and key-stone of the Republic." Lettre

du Citoyen P . Papiers inedits trouves chez Robespierre. —

Tom. 11. p. 127.

BOOK SIXTH.

SUPERSTITION DESERTING FAITH.

CHAPTER I.

Therefore the Genii were painted with a platter full of garlands and
flowers in one hand, and a whip in the other. — Alexander Ross,
My stag. Poet.

According to the order of the events related in this
narrative, the departure of Zanoni and Yiola from the
Greek Isle, in which two happy years appear to have been
passed, must have been somewhat later in date than the
arrival of Glyndon at Marseilles. It mnst have been in
the course of the year 1T91 when Yiola fled from JN'aples
with her mysterious lover, and when Glyndon sought
Mejnour in the fatal Castle. It is now towards the close
of 1793, when our story again returns to Zanoni.~ The
stars of winter shone down on the Lagunes of Yenice.
The hum of the Rialto was hushed — the last loiterers had
deserted the place of St. Mark's, and only at distant in-
tervals might be heard the oars of the rapid gondolas,
bearing reveller or lover to his home. But lights still
flitted to and fro across the windows of one of the Palla-

(142)

Z AN ON I. 143

dian palaces, whose shadow slept in the great canal; and
within the Palace watched the twin Eumenides, that never
sleep for Man, — Fear and Pain.

'' I will make thee the richest man in all Venice, if thou
savest her,"

" Signor," said the Leech, "your gold cannot control
death, and the will of Heaven — Signor, unless within the
next hour there is some blessed change, prepare your
courage."

Ho — ho, Zanoni ! man of mystery and might, who hast
walked amidst the passions of the world, with no changes
on thy brow, art thou tossed at last upon the billows of
tempestuous fear ? — Does thy spirit reel to and fro ? —
knowest thou at last the strength and the majesty of
Death ?

He fled, trembling, from the pale-faced man of art —
fled through stately hall and long-drawn corridor, and
gained a remote chamber in the Palace, which other step
than his v/as not permitted to profane. Out with thy
herbs and vessels. Break from the enchanted elements,
O silvery-azure flame ! Why comes he not — the Son of
the Star-beam ! Why is Adon-Ai deaf to thy solemn
call ? It comes not — the luminous and delightsome Pres-
ence ! Cabalist ! are thy charms in vain ? Has thy
throne vanished from the realms of space ? Thou standest
pale and trembling. Pale trembler ! not thus didst thou ^
look, wlien the things of glory gathered at thy spell.
Never to the pale trembler bow the things of glory : —
the soul; and not the herbs, nor the silvery-azure flame,

144 ZANONI,

nor the spells of the Cabala, commands the children of
the air ; and thy soul, by Love and Death, is made scep-
treless and discrowned !

At length the flame quivers — the air grows cold as the
wind in charnels. A thing not of earth is present — a
mist-like formless thing. It cowers in the distance — a
silent Horror ! it rises — it creeps — it nears thee — dark in
its mantle of dusky haze ; and under its veil it looks on
thee with its livid, malignant eyes — the thing of malignant
eyes !

" Ha, young Chaldsean ! young in thy countless ages

— young as when, cold to pleasure and to beauty, thou
stoodest on the old Fire-tower, and heardest the starry
silence whisper to thee the last mystery that baffles Death,

— fearest thou Death at length ? Is thy knowledge but
a circle that brings thee back whence thy wanderings
began ! Generations on generations have withered since
we two met ! Lo ! thou beholdest me now ! "

"But I behold thee without fear! Though beneath
thine eyes thousands have perished ; though, where they
burn, spring up the foul poisons of the human heart, and
to those whom thou canst subject to thy will, thy presence
glares in the dreams of the raving maniac, or blackens
the dungeon of despairing crime, thou art not my van-
quisher, but my slave ! "

"And as a slave, will I serve thee! Command thy
slave, O beautiful Chaldtean ! — Hark, the wail of women !

— hark, the sharp shriek of thy beloved one ! Death is
in thy palace ! Adon-Ai comes not to thy call. Only

ZANONI. 145

where no cloud of the passion and the flesh veils the eye
of the Serene Intelligence can the Sons of the Star-beam
glide to man. But /can aid thee ! — hark ! " And Za-
noni heard distinctly in his heart, even at that distance
from the chamber, the voice of Yiola, calling in delirium
on her beloved one.

" Oh, Yiola, I can save thee not ! " exclaimed the Seer,
passionately ; " my love for thee has made me powerless ! "

" Not powerless ; I can gift thee with the art to save
her — I can place healing in thy hand !"

"For both? child and mother — for both?"

''Both!"

A convulsion shook the limbs of the Seer — a mighty
struggle shook him as a child : the Humanity and the
Hour conquered the repugnant spirit.

"I yield! Mother and child — save both!"

In the dark chamber lay Yiola, in the sharpest agonies
of travail; life seemed rending itself away in the groans
and cries that spoke of pain in the midst of frenzy ; and
still, in groan and cry, she called on Zanoni, her beloved.
The physician looked to the clock ; on it beat — the Heart
of Time, — regularly and slowly — Heart that never sym-
pathised with Life, and never flagged for Death ! " The
cries are fainter," said the leech ; "in ten minutes more,
all will be past."

Fool ! the minutes laugh at thee ; Nature even now,
like a blue sky through a shattered temple, is smiling
through the tortured frame. The breathing grows more

II. — 13 K

146 Z AN ONI.

calm and hushed — the voice of delirium is dumb — a
sweet dream has come to Yiola. Is it a dream, or is it
the soul that sees ? She thinks suddenly that she is with
Zanoni, that her burning head is pillowed on his bosom ;
she thinks as he gazes on her, that his eyes dispel the
tortures that prey upon her — the touch of his hand cools
the fever on her brow ; she hears his voice in murmurs
— it is a music from which the fiends fly. Where is the
mountain that seemed to press upon her temples ? Like
a vapor, it rolls away. In the frosts of the winter night,
she sees the sun laughing in luxurious heaven — she hears
the whisper of green leaves ; the beautiful world, valley,
and stream, and woodland, lie before, and with a common
voice speak to her — " We are not yet past for thee ! "
Fool of drugs and formula, look to thy dial-plate ! — the
hand has moved on ; the minutes are with Eternity ; the
soul thy sentence would have dismissed, still dwells on the
shores of Time. She sleeps ; the fever abates ; the con-
vulsions are gone ; the living rose blooms upon her cheek ;
the crisis is past ! Husband, thy wife lives I lover, thy
universe is no solitude. Heart of Time, beat on ! A
while — a little while — joy ! joy ! joy ! — father, embrace
thy child !

ZANONI. 147

CHAPTER II.

— tristis Erinnys

Prsetulit infaustas sanguinolenta faces.*

Ovid.

And they placed the child in the father's arms ! As
silently he bent over it, tears — tears, how human ! — fell
from his eyes like rain ! And the little one smiled through
the tears that bathed its cheeks I Ah, with what happy
tears we welcome the stranger into our sorrowing world !
With v/hat agonizing tears we dismiss the stranger back
to the angels ! Unselfish joy ; bu^ how selfish is the sor-
row !

And now throusrh the silent chamber a faint sweet voice
is heard — the young mother's voice.

" I am here : I am by thy side ! " murmured Zanoni.

The mother smiled, and clasped his hand, and asked no
more ; she was contented.

:}« * 5fJ * * *

Yiola recovered with a rapidity that startled the phy-
sician : and the young stranger thrived as if it already
loved the world to which it had descended. From that
hour Zanoni seemed to live in the infant's life ; and in
that life the souls of mother and father met as in a new
bond. Nothing more beautiful than this infant had eye

* Erinnys, doleful and bloody, extends the unblessed torches.

148 ZANONI.

ever dwelt upon. It was strange to the nurses that it
came not wailing to the light, but smiled to the light as
a thing familiar to it before. It never uttered one cry of
childish pain. In its very repose it seemed to be listening
to some happy voice within its heart : it seemed itself so
happy. In its eyes you would have thought intellect
already kindled, though it had not yet found a language.
Already it seemed to recognize its parents ; already it
stretched forth its arms when Zanoni bent over the bed
in which it breathed and bloomed, — the budding flower !
And from that bed he was rarely absent : gazing upon it
with his serene, delighted eyes, his soul seemed to feed its
own. At night and in utter darkness he was still there ;
and Yiola often heard him murmuring over it as she lay
in a half-sleep. But the murmur was in a language strange
to her ; and sometimes when she heard, she feared, and
vague, undefined superstitions came back to her — the
superstitions of earlier youth. A mother fears everything
even the gods, for her new-born. The mortals shrieked
aloud, when of old they saw the great Demeter seeking
to make their child immortal !

But Zanoni, wrapt in the sublime designs that animated
the human love to which he was now awakened, forgot all,
even all he had forfeited or incurred, in the love that
blinded him.

But the dark, formless thing, though he nor invoked
nor saw it, crept, often, round and round him : and often
sat by the infant's couch, with its hateful eyes.

ZANONI. 149

CHAPTER III.

Fuscis {ellurem amplectitur alis.* — Virgil.
LETTER FROM ZANONI TO MEJNOUR.

Mejnour, Humanity, with all its sorrows and its joys,
is mine once more. Day by day, I am forging my own
fetters. I live in other lives than my own, and in them I
have lost more than half my empire. Not lifting them
aloft, they drag me by the strong bands of the affections
to their own earth. Exiled from the beings only visible
to the most abstract sense, the grim Enemy that guards
the Threshold has entangled me in its web. Canst thou
credit me, when I tell thee that I have accepted its gifts
and endure the forfeit ? Ages must pass ere the brighter
beings can again obey the spirit that has bowed to the
ghastly one! And —

:}: ^jt ^ Hi * *

In this hope, then, Mejnour, I triumph still ; I yet have
supreme power over this young life. Insensibly and in-
audibly my soul speaks to its own, and prepares it even
now. Thou knowest that for the pure and unsullied infant
spirit, the ordeal has no terror and no peril. Thus un-
ceasingly I nourish it with no unholy light; and ere it
yet be conscious of the gift, it will gain the privileges it

* Embraces the Earth with gloomy wings.

13*

150 Z AN ON I.

has been mine to attain : the child, by slow and scarce-
seen degrees, will communicate its own attributes to the
mother ; and content to see Youth for ever radiant on
the brows of the two that now suffice to fill up my whole
infinity of thought, shall I regret the airier kingdom that
vanishes hourly from my grasp ? But thou, whose vision
is still clear and serene, look into the far deeps shut from
my gaze, and counsel me, or forewarn ! I know that the
gifts of the Being whose race is so hostile to our own,
are, to the common seeker, fatal and perfidious as itself.
And hence, when, at the outskirts of knowledge, which
in earlier ages men called Magic, they encountered the
things of the hostile tribes, they believed the apparitions
to be fiends, and, by fancied compacts, imagined they had
signed away their souls ; as if man could give for an eter-
nity that over which he has control but while he lives I
Dark, and shrouded for ever from human sight, dwell the
daemon rebels, in their impenetrable realm ; in them is no
breath of the Divine One. In every human creature the
Divine One breathes; and He alone can judge His own
hereafter and allot its new career and home. Could man
sell himself to the fiend, man could prejudge himself, and
arrogate the disposal of eternity I But these creatures,
modifications as they are of matter, and some with more
than the malignity of man, may well seem, to fear and
unreasoning superstition, the representatives of fiends.
And from the darkest and mightiest of them I have ac-
cepted a boon — the secret that startled Death from those
so dear to me. Can I not trust that enough of power

ZANONI. 151

yet remains to me, to baffle or to daunt the Phantom, if
it seek to pervert the gift ? Answer me, Mejnour ; for
in the darkness that veils me, I see only the pure eyes of
the new-born ; I hear only the low beating of my heart.
Answer me, thou whose wisdom is without love !

MEJNOUR TO ZANONI.

Rome.

Fallen one ! — I see before thee, Evil and Death, and
Woe ! Thou to have relinquished Adon-Ai, for the name-
less Terror — the heavenly stars, for those fearful eyes I
Thou, at the last to be the victim of the Larva of the
dreary Threshold, that, in thy first novitiate, fled, withered
and shrivelled, from thy kingly brow ! When, at the
primary grades of initiation, the pupil I took from thee
on the shores of the changed Parthenope, fell senseless
and cowering before that Phantom-Darkness, I knew that
his spirit w^as not formed to front the worlds beyond ; for
FEAR is the attraction of man to earthiest earth ; and
while he fears,'he cannot soar. But thou, seest thou not
that to love is but to fear ? — seest thou not, that the power
of which thou boastest over the malignant one is already
gone ? It awes, it masters thee ; it will mock thee and
betray. Lose not a moment ; come to me. If there can
yet be sufficient sympathy between us, through my eyes
shalt thou see, and perhaps guard against the perils that,
shapeless yet, and looming through the shadow, marshal
themselves around thee and those whom thy very love has
doomed. Come from all the ties of thy fond humanity ;
they will but obscure thy vision ! Come forth from thy

152 ZANONI.

fears and hopes, thy desires and passions. Come, as alone
Mind can be the monarch and the seer, shining through
the home it tenants — a pure, impressionless, sublime in-
tellisreuce !

CHAPTER lY.

Plus que Tous ne pensez ce moment est terrible.*

La Harpe, Le Comte de Warwick, Act 3, sc. 5.

For the jQrst time since their union, Zanoni and Yiola
were separated' — Zanoni went to Rome on important
business. " It was," he said, " but for a few days : " and
he went so suddenly that there was little time either for
surprise or sorrow. But first parting is always more mel-
ancholy than it need be ; it seems an interruption to the
existence which Love shares with Love ; it makes the
heart feel what a void life will be when the last parting
shall succeed, as succeed it must, the first. But Yiola had
a new companion : she was enjoying that most delicious
novelty which ever renews the youth and dazzles the eyes
of woman. As the mistress — the wife — she leans on
another ; from another are reflected her happiness, her
being — as an orb that takes light from its sun. But now,
in turn, as the mother, she is raised from dependence into
power ; it is another that leans on her — a star has sprung
into space, to which she herself has become the sun I

* The moment is more terrible than you think.

Z AN ONI. 153

A few days — but they will be sweet through the sor-
row I A few days — every hour of which seems an era to
the infant, over whom bend watchful the eyes and the
heart. From its waking to its sleep, from its sleep to its
waking, is a revolution in Time. Every gesture to be
noted — every smile to seem a new progress into the world
it has come to bless ! Zanoni has gone — the last dash of
the oar is lost — the last speck of the gondola has vanished
from the ocean-streets of Yenice ! Her infant is sleeping
in the cradle at the mother's feet ; and she thinks through
her tears what tales of the fairy-land, that spreads far and
wide, with a thousand wonders, in that narrow bed, she
shall have to tell the father ! Smile on — weep on, young
mother ! Already the fairest leaf in the wild volume is
closed for thee ! and the invisible finger turns the page I

:}; H^ ;H ^ 5|{ :({

By the bridge of the Rialto stood two Yenetians —
ardent Republicans and Democrats — ^looking to the Rev-
olution of France as the earthquake which must shatter
their own expiring and vicious constitution, and give
equality of ranks and rights to Yenice.

" Yes, Cottalto," said one ; " my correspondent of Paris
has promised to elude all obstacles, and baffle all danger.
He will arrange with us the hour of revolt, when the le-
gions of France shall be within hearing of our guns. One
day in this week^ at this hour, he is to meet me here.
This is but the fourth day."

He had scarce said these words before a man, wrapped
in his roquelaire, emerging from one of the narrow streets

154 ZANONI.

to the left, halted opposite the pair, and eyeing them for
a few moments with an earnest scrutiny, whispered —

" JSt fraterinte,^^ answered the speaker.

"You, then, are the brave Dandolo with whom the
Gomite deputed me to correspond ? And this citizen ? "

" Is Cottalto, whom my letters have so often men-
tioned."*

" Health and brotherhood to him ! I have much to
impart to you both. I will meet you at night, Dandolo.
But in the streets we may be observed."

" And I dare not appoint my own house ; tyranny makes
spies of our very walls. But the place herein designated
is secure ; " and he slipped an address into the hand of his
correspondent.

" To-night, then, at nine ! Meanwhile I have other
business." The man paused, his color changed, and it
was with an eager and passionate voice that he resumed —

" Your last letter mentioned this wealthy and mysterious
visitor — this Zanoni. He is still at Venice?"

" I heard that he had left this morning ; but his wife is
still here."

" His wife ! — that is well I "

" What know you of him ? Think you that he would
join us? His wealth would be "

* I know not if the author of the original MSS. designs, under
these names, to introduce the real Cottalto and the true Dandolo,
who, in 1797, distinguished themselves by their sympathy with the
French, and their democratic ardor. — Ed.

ZANONI. 155

^' His house, his address — quick I ■' interrupted the man.

''The Palazzo di ., on the Grand Canal."

"I thank yoa — at nine we meet."

The man hurried on through the street from which he
had emerged ; and, passing by the house in which he had
taken up his lodging (he had arrived at Venice the night
before), a woman who stood by the door caught his arm.

" Jfo?is2e Mr," she said, in French, "I have been watch-
ing for your return. Do you understand me ? I will
brave all, risk all, to go back with you to France — to
stand, through life or in death, by my husband's side ! "

" Citoyenne, I promised your husband that, if such
your choice, I would hazard my own safety to aid it. But
think again ! Your husband is one of the faction which
Robespierre's eyes have already marked : he cannot fly.
All France is become a prison to the 'suspect.^ You do
but endanger yourself by return. Frankly, citoyenne, the
fate you would share may be the guillotine. I speak (as
you know by his letter) as your husband bade me."

'^Monsieur, I will return with you," said the woman,
with a smile upon her pale face.

"And yet you deserted your husband in the fair sunshine
of the Revolution, to return to him amidst its storms and
thunder," said the man, in a tone half of wonder, half
rebuke.

" Because my father's days were doomed ; because he
had no safety but in flight to a foreign land ; because he
was old and penniless, and had none but me to work for
him ; because my husband was not then in danger, and

156 ZANONI.

m J father was 1 he is dead — dead ! My husband is in
danger now. The daughter's duties are no more — tlie
wife's return ! "

"Be it so, citoyenne ; on the third night I depart.
Before then you may retract your choice."

" jS'ever ! "

A dark smile passed over the man's face.

" 0 guillotine ! " he said, " how many virtues hast thou
brought to light ! Well may they call thee 'A Holy
Mother.' 0 gory guillotine!"

He passed on, muttering to himself, hailed a gondola,
and was soon amidst the crowded waters of the Grand
Canal.

CHAPTER Y.

Ce que j'ignore
Est plus triste peut-etre et plus affreux encore.*

La Harpe, Le Comte de Warwick, Act 5, sc. 1.

The casement stood open, and Yiola was seated by it.
Beneath sparkled the broad waters, in the cold but cloud-
less sunlight ; and to that fair form, that half-averted face,
turned the eyes of many a gallant cavalier, as their gon-
dolas glided by.

But at last, in the centre of the canal, one of these dark
vessels halted motionless, as a man fixed his gaze from its
lattice upon that stately palace. He gave the word to

* That which I know not is, perhaps, more sad and fearful still.

Z ANON I. 15t

the rowers — the vessel approached the marge. The
stranger quitted the gondola ; he passed up the broad
stairs ; he entered the palace. Weep on, smile no more,
young mother ! — the last page is turned !

An attendant entered the room, and gave Yiola a card,
with these words in English — " Viola, I must see you !
Clarence Glyndon."

Oh, yes, how gladly Yiola would see him ! — how gladly
speak to him of her happiness — of Zanoni ! — how gladly
show to him her child ! Poor Clarence ! she had forgot-
ten him till now, as she had all the fever of her earlier
life — its dreams, its vanities, its poor excitement, the
lamps of the gaudy theatre, the applause of the noisy
crowd.

He entered. She started to behold him, so changed
were his gloomy brow, his resolute, care-worn features,
from the graceful form and careless countenance of the
artist-lover. His dress, though not mean, was rude,
neglected, and disordered. A wild, desperate, half-sav-
age air had supplanted that ingenuous mien, diffident in
its grace, earnest in its diffidence, — which had once char-
acterized the young worshipper of Art, the dreaming
aspirant after some starrier lore.

"Is it you ?" she said, at last. ''Poor Clarence, how
changed ! "

" Changed ! " he said, abruptly, as he placed himself by
her side. "And whom am I to thank, but the fiends —
the sorcerers — -who have seized upon thy existence, as
upon mine ? Yiola, hear me. A few weeks since, the

II.— U

158 Z AN ONI.

news reached me that you were in Yenice. Under other
pretences, and through innumerable dangers, I have come
hither, risking liberty, perhaps life, if my name and career
are known in Yenice, to warn and save you. Changed,
you call me ! — changed without ; but what is that to the
ravages within ? Be warned, be warned in time ! "

The voice of Glyndon, sounding hollow and s-epulchral,
alarmed Yiola even more than his words. Pale, haggard,
emaciated, he seemed almost as one risen from the dead
to appal and awe her. '' What," she said, at last, in a
faltering voice, " what wild words do you utter ! Can
you "

'' Listen ! " interrupted Glyndon, laying his hand upon
her arm, and its touch was as cold as death — " listen J
You have heard of the old stories of men who have
leagued themselves with devils for the attainment of pre-
ternatural powers. Those stories are not fables. Such
men live. Their delight is to increase the unhallowed
circle of wretches like themselves. If their proselytes
fail in the ordeal, the dasmon seizes them, even in this life,
as it hath seized me ! — if they succeed, woe, yea, a more
lasting woe ! There is another life, where no spells can
charm the evil one, or allay the torture. I have come
from a scene where blood flows in rivers — where Death
stands by the side of the bravest and the highest, and the
one monarch is the Guillotine ; but all the mortal perils
with which men can be beset, are nothing to the dreariness
of a chamber where the Horror that passes death moves
and stirs ! "

ZANONI. 159

It was then that Glyndon, with a cold and distinct pre-
cision, detailed, as he had done to Adela, the initiation
through which he had gone. He described, in words that
froze the blood of his listener, the appearance of that
formless phantom, with the eyes that seared the brain
and congealed the marrow of those who beheld. Once
seen, it never was to be exorcised. It came at its own
will, prompting black thoughts — v/hispering strange
temptations. Only in scenes of turbulent excitement was
it absent ! Solitude — serenity — the struggling desires
after peace and virtue — these were the elements it loved
to haunt ! Bewildered, terror-stricken, the wild account
confirmed by the dim impressions that never, in the depth
and confidence of afi'ection, had been closely examined,
but rather banished as soon as felt — that the life and
attributes of Zanoni were not like those of mortals —
impressions which her own love had made her hitherto
censure, as suspicions that wronged, and which, thus
mitigated, had perhaps only served to rivet the fascinated
chains in which he bound her heart and senses, but which
now, as Glyndon's awful narrative filled her with con-
tagious dread, half-unbound the very spells they had woven
before — Yiola started up in fear — not for /lerse//; and
clasped her child in her arms !

"Unhappiest one !" cried Glyndon, shuddering, "hast
thou indeed given birth to a victim thou canst not save ?
Refuse it sustenance — let it look to thee in vain for food !
In the grave, at least, there are repose and peace ! "

160 ZANONI.

Then there came back to Yiola's mind the remembrance
of Zanoni's night-long watches by that cradle, and the
fear which even then had crept over her as she heard his
murmured half-chanted words. And as the child looked
at her with its clear, steadfast eye, in the strange intelli-
gence of that look there was something that only con-
firmed her awe. So there both Mother and Forewarner
stood in silence — the sun smiling upon them through the
casement, and dark by the cradle, though they saw it not,
sat the motionless, veiled Thing !

But by degrees better, and juster, and more grateful
memories of the past returned to the young mother. The
features of the infant, as she gazed, took the aspect of
the absent father. A voice seemed to break from those
rosy lips, and say, mournfully — "I speak to thee in thy
child. In return for all my love for thee and thine, dost
thou distrust me, at the first sentence of a maniac who
accuses ? "

Her breast heaved — her stature rose — her eyes shone
with a serene and holy light.

" Go, poor victim of thine own delusions," she said to
Glyndon ; " I would not believe mine own senses, if they,
accused its father 1 And what knowest thou of Zanoni ?
What relation have Mejnour and the grisly spectres he
invoked, with the radiant image with which thou wouldst
connect them ! "

" Thou wilt learn too soon," replied Glyndon, gloomily.
"And the very phantom that haunts me, whispers, with

ZANONI. 161

its bloodless lips, that its horrors await both thine and
thee I I take not thy decision yet ; before I leave Yenice
we shall meet again."
He said; and departed.

CHAPTER VI.

Quel est I'egarement oil ton ame se livre ? *

La Harpe, Le Comte de Warinck, Act 4, sc. 4.

Alas, Zanoni ! the Aspirer, the dark bright one ! — ■
didst thou think that the bond between the survivor of
ages and the daughter of a day could endure ? Didst
thou not foresee that, until the ordeal was past, there
could be no equality betv/een thy wisdom and her love ?
Art thou absent now, seeking amidst thy solemn secrets,
the solemn safeguards for child and mother, and forgettest
thou that the pliantoin that served thee hath power over
its own gifts — over the lives it taught thee to rescue from
the grave ? Dost thou not know that Fear and Distrust,
once sown in the heart of Love, spring up from the seed
into a forest that excludes the stars ? Dark bright one I
the hateful eyes glare beside the mother and the child !

All that day Viola was distracted by a thousand thoughts
and terrors, which fled as she examined them, to settle

* To what delusion does thy soul abandon itself?
14* L

162 Z ANON I.

back the darklier. She remembered that, as she had once
said to Glyndon, her very childhood had been haunted
with strange forebodings, that she was ordained for some
preternatural doom. She remembered that, as she had
told him this, sitting by the seas that slumbered in the
arms of the Bay of Naples, he, too, had acknowledged
the same forebodings, and a mysterious sympathy had
appeared to unite their fates. She remembered, above
all, that comparing their entangled thoughts, both had
then said that with the first sight of Zanoni the foreboding,
the instinct, had spoken to their hearts more audibly than
before, whispering, that " with him was connected the
secret of the unconjectured life."

And now, when Glyndon and Yiola met again, the
haunting fears of childhood, thus referred to, woke from
their enchanted sleep. With Glyndon's terror she felt a
sympathy, against which her reason and her love struggled
in vain. And still, when she turned her looks upon her
child, it watched her with that steady, earnest eye, and
its lips moved as if it sought to speak to her ; — but no
sound came. The infant refused to sleep. Whenever she
gazed upon its face, still those wakeful, watchful eyes ! —
and in their earnestness, there spoke something of pain,
of upbraiding, of accusation. They chilled her as she
looked. Unable to endure, of herself, this sudden and
complete revulsion of all the feelings which had hitherto
made up her life, she formed the resolution natural to her
land and creed ; she sent for the priest who had habitually

ZANONI. 163

attended her at Venice, and to him she confessed, with
passionate sobs and intense terror, the doubts that had
broken upon her. The good father, a worthy and pious
man, but with little education and less sense, one who
held, (as raanj- of the lower Italians do to this day) even
a poet to be a sort of sorcerer, seemed to shut the gates
of hope upon her heart. His remonstrances were urgent,
for his horror was unfeigned. He joined with Glyndon
in imploring her to fly, if she felt the smallest doubt that
her husband's pursuits were of the nature which the
Roman church had benevolently burned so many scholars
for adopting. And even the little that Yiola could com-
municate, seemed to the ignorant ascetic irrefragable
proof of sorcery and witchcraft : he had, indeed, previously
heard some of the strange rumors which followed the
path of Zanoni, and was therefore prepared to believe
the worst ; the worthy Bartolomeo would have made no
bones of sending Watt to the stake, had he heard him
speak of the steam-engine ! But Yiola, as untutored as
himself, was terrified by his rough and vehement elo-
quence ; terrified, for by that penetration which Catholic
priests, however dull, generally acquire, in their vast ex-
perience of the human heart hourly exposed to their
probe, Bartolomeo spoke less of danger to herself than
to her child. " Sorcerers," said he, " have ever sought
the most to decoy and seduce the souls of the young —
nay, the infant;" and therewith he entered into a long
catalogue of legendary fables which he quoted as his-

164 ZANONI.

torical facts. All at which an English woman would have
smiled, appalled the tender but superstitious Neapolitan ;
and when the priest left her, with solemn rebukes and
grave accusations of a dereliction of her duties to her
child, if she hesitated to fly with it from an abode polluted
by the darker powers and unhallowed arts, Yiola, still
clinging to the image of Zanoni, sunk into a passive
lethargy, which held her very reason in suspense.

The hours passed ; night came on ; the house was
hushed ; and Yiola, slowly awakened from the numbness
and torpor which had usurped her faculties, tossed to
and fro on her couch, restless and perturbed. The still-
ness became intolerable ; yet more intolerable the sound
that alone broke it, the voice of the clock, knelling
moment after moment to its grave. The Moments, at
last, seemed themselves to find voice — to gain shape.
She thought she beheld them springing, wan and fairy-
like, from the womb of darkness ; and ere they fell again,
extinguished, into that womb, their grave, their low small
voices murmured — " Woman ! we report to eternity all
that is done in time ! What shall we report of thee, 0
guardian of a new-born soul ?" She became sensible that
her fancies had brought a sort of partial delirium, that
she was in a state between sleep and waking, when sud-
denly one thought became more predominant than the
rest. The chamber which, in that and every house they
had inhabited, even that in the Greek isles, Zanoni had
set apart to a solitude on which none might intrude, the

Z AN ONI. 165

threshold of which even Yiola's step was forbid to cross,
and never, hitherto, in that sweet repose of confidence
which belongs- to cemented love, had she even felt the
curious desire to disobey — now, that chamber drew her
towards it. Perhaps, there, might be found a somewhat
to solve the riddle, to dispel or confirm the doubt : that
thought grew and deepened in its intenseness ; it fastened
on her as with a palpable and irresistible grasp ; it seemed
to raise her limbs without her will.

And now, through the chamber, along the galleries
thou glidest, O lovely shape I sleep-walking, yet awake.
The moon shines on thee as thou glidest by, casement
after casement, white-robed and wandering spirit ! — thine
arms crossed upon thy bosom, thine eyes fixed and open,
with a calm, unfearing awe. Mother ! it is thy child that
leads thee on. The fairy moments go before thee. Thou
hearest still the clock-knell tolling them to their graves
behind. On, gliding on, thou hast gained the door ; no
lock bars thee, no magic spell drives thee back. Daughter
of the dust, thou standest alone with Night in the chamber
where, pale and numberless, the hosts of space have
gathered round the seer !

166 ZANONI.

CHAPTER YII.

Des Erdenlebens
Schweres Traumbild sinkt, und sinkt, und sinkt.*

Das Ideal und das Lebens.

She stood within the chamber, and gazed around her ;
no signs by which an Inquisitor of old could have detected
the Scholar of the Black Art were visible. No crucibles
and caldrons, no brass-bound volumes and ciphered girdles,
no skulls and cross-bones. Quietly streamed the broad
moon -light through the desolate chamber with its bare
white walls. A few bunches of withered herbs, a few
antique vessels of bronze, placed carelessly on a wooden
form, were all which that curious gaze could identify with
the pursuits of the absent owner. The magic, if it existed,
dwelt in the artificer, and the materials, to other hands,
were but herbs and bronze. So is it ever with thy works
and wonders, 0 Genius — Seeker of the Stars ! Words
themselves are the common property of all men ; yet, from
words themselves, Thou, Architect of Immortalities, pilest
up temples that shall outlive the Pyramids, and the very
leaf of the Papyrus becomes a Shinar, stately with towers,
round which the Deluge of Ages shall roar in vain !

But in that solitude has the Presence that there had

* The Dream Shape of the heavy earthly life sinks, and sinks,
and sinks.

Z AN ON I. I6t

invoked its wonders left no enchantment of its own ? It
seemed so ; for as Yiola stood in the chamber, she became
sensible that some mysterious change was at work within
herself. Her blood coursed rapidly, and with a sensation
of delight, through her veins — she felt as if chains were
falling from her limbs, as if cloud after cloud was rolling
from her gaze. All the confused thoughts which had
moved through her trance, settled and centred themselves
in one intense desire to see the Absent One — to be with
him. The monads that make up space and air seemed
charged with a spiritual attraction — to become a medium
through which her spirit could pass from its clay, and
confer with the spirit to which the unutterable desire
compelled it. A faintness seized her ; she tottered to the
seat on which the vessels and herbs were placed, and, as
she bent down, she saw in one of the vessels a small vase
of crystal. By a mechanical and involuntary impulse,
her hand seized the vase ; she opened it, and the volatile
essence it contained sparkled up, and spread through the
room a pov/erful and delicious fragrance. She inhaled
the odor, she laved her temples with the liquid, and sud-
denly her life seemed to spring up from the previous
faintness — to spring, to soar, to float, to dilate upon the
wings of a bird.

The room vanished from her eyes. Away — away, over
lands, and seas, and space, on the rushing desires flies the
disprisoned mind !

Upon a stratum, not of this world, stood the world-

168 ZANONI.

born shapes of the sons of Science ; upon an embryo
world — upon a crude, wan, attenuated mass of matter,
one of the Nebulae, which the suns of the myriad systems
throw off as they roll round the Creator's throne,* to
become themselves new worlds of symmetry and glory —
planets and suns, that for ever and for ever shall in their
turn multiply their shining race, and be the fathers of
suns and planets yet to come.

There, in that enormous solitude of an infant world,
which thousands and thousands of years can alone ripen
into form, the spirit of Yiola beheld the shape of Zanoni,
or rather the likeness, the simulacrum, the lemur of his
shape, not its human and corporeal substance — as if, like

* "Astronomy instructs us, that in the original condition of the
solar system, the sun was the nucleus of a nebulosity or luminous
mass, which revolved on its axis, and extended far beyond the
orLits of all the planets ; the planets as yet having no existence.
Its temperature gradually diminished, and becoming contracted by
cooling, the rotation increased in rapidity, and zones of nebulosity
were successively thrown oflF, in consequence of the centrifugal
force overpowering the central attraction. The condensation of
these separate masses constituted the planets and satellites. But
this view of the conversion of gaseous matter into planetary bodies
is not limited to our own system ; it extends to the formation of
the innumerable suns and worlds which are distributed throughout
the universe. The sublime discoveries of modern astronomers have
shown that every part of the realms of space abounds in large
expansions of attenuated matter termed nebulce, which are irregu-
larly reflective of light, of various figures, and in different states
of condensation, from that of a diffused luminous mass to suns and
planets like our own." — From Mantell's eloquent and delightful
work, entitled, " The Wonders of Geology,'' vol. i. p. 22.

Z AN ON I. 169

hers, the Intelligence was parted from the Clay : — and
as the sun, while it revolves and glows, had cast off into
remotest space that Nebular image of itself, so the thing
of earth, in the action of its more luminous and enduring
being, had thrown its likeness into that new-born stranger
of the heavens. There stood the phantom — a phantom
Mejnour, by its side. In the gigantic chaos around raved
and struggled the kindling elements — water and fire,
darkness and light, at war — vapor and cloud hardening
into mountains, and the Breath of Life moving like a
steadfast splendor over all !

As the dreamer looked, and shivered, she beheld that
even there the two phantoms of humanity v;ere not alone.
Dim monster-forms that that disordered chaos alone could
engender, the first reptile Colossal race that wreathe and
crawl through the earliest stratum of a w^orld laboring
into life, coiled in the oozing matter or hovered through
the meteorous vapors. But these the two seekers seemed
not to heed ; their gaze was fixed intent upon an object
in the farthest space. With the eyes of the spirit, Yiola
followed theirs ; with a terror far greater than the chaos
and its hideous inhabitants produced, she beheld a shadowy
likeness of the very room in which her form yet dwelt,
its white walls, the moonshine sleeping on its floor, its
open casement, with the quiet roofs and domes of Venice
looming over the sea that sighed below; — and in that
room the ghost-like image of herself! This double phan-
tom— here herself a phantom — gazing there upon a

II. — 15

ItO ZANONI.

phantom-self, had in it a horror which no words can tell,
no length of life forego.

But presently she saw this image of herself rise slowly,
leave the room with its noiseless feet — it passes the cor-
ridor— it kneels by a cradle ! Heaven of Heaven ! she
beholds her child! — still with its wondrous child-like
beauty and its silent wakeful eyes. But beside that
cradle there sits, cowering, a mantled shadowy form —
the more fearful and ghastly, from its indistinct and un-
substantial gloom. The walls of that chamber seem to
open as the scene of a theatre. A grim dungeon — streets
through which pour shadowy crowds — wrath and hatred,
and the aspect of daemons in their ghastly visages — a
place of death — a murderous instrument — a shamble-
house of human flesh — herself — her child — all, all, rapid
phantasmagoria, chased each other. Suddenly the phan-
tom-Zanoni turned, it seemed to perceive herself — her
second self. It sprang towards her ; her spirit could bear
no more. She shrieked, she woke. She found that in
truth she had left that dismal chamber ; the cradle was
before her — the child ! all — -'all as that trance had seen
it, and, vanishing into air, even that dark formless Thing I
" My child ! my child I thy mother shall save thee yet ! "

ZANONI. Ill

CHAPTER YIII.

'•Qui? Toil m'abandonner, on vas-tu? non ! demeure,
Demeure! " -

La IIarpe, Le Comte de Wanciclc, Act 3, sc. 5.

LETTER FROM VIOLA TO ZANONL

" It has come to this ! — I am the first to part ! I, the
unfaithful one, bid thee farewell for ever. When thine
eyes fall upon this writing, thou wilt know me as one of
the dead. For thou that wert, and still art my life — I am
lost to thee ! 0 lover ! 0 husband ! 0 still worshipped
and adored ! if thou hast ever loved me, if thou canst still
pity, seek not to d4scover the steps that fly thee. If thy
charms can detect and track me, spare me — spare our
child ! Zanoni, I will rear it to love thee, to call thee
father ! Zanoni, its young lips shall pray for thee ! Ah,
spare thy child, for infants are the saints of earth, and
their mediation may be heard on high ! Shall I tell thee
why I part ? i^To ; thou, the wisely-terrible, canst divine
what the hand trembles to record ; and while I shudder
at thy power — while it is thy power I fly (our child upon
my bosom), — it comforts me still to think that thy power
can read the heart ! Thou knowest that it is the faithful
mother that writes to thee, it is not the faithless wife ! Is
there sin in thy knowledge, Zanoni ? Sin must have sor-

* Who? Thou abandon me! — Where goest thou? No, stay, stay!

172 Z AN ONI.

row : and it were sweet — oh, how sweet, to be thy com-
forter. But the child, the infant, the soul that looks to
mine for its shield ! Magician, I wrest from thee that
soul ! Pardon, pardon, if my words wrong thee. See,
I fall on my knees to write the rest !

"Why did I never recoil before from thy mysterious
lore ? — why did the very strangeness of thine unearthly
life only fascinate me with a delightful fear ? Because, if
thou wert sorcerer or angel-dsemon, there was no peril to
other but myself: and none to me, for my love was my
heavenliest part ; and my ignorance in all things, except
the art to love thee, repelled every thought that was not
bright and glorious as thine image to my eyes. But now
there is another ! Look ! why does it watch me thus —
why that never-sleeping, earnest, rebuking ga2e ? Have
thy spells encompassed it already ? Hast thou marked it,-
cruel one, for the terrors of thy unutterable art ? Do not
madden me — do not madden me ! — unbind the spell !

''Hark! the oars without ! They come — they come,
to bear me from thee ! I look round, and methinks that
I see thee everywhere. Thou speakest to me from every
shadow, from every star. There, by the casement, thy
lips last pressed mine — there, there by that threshold
didst thou turn again, and thy smile seemed so trustingly
to confide in me! Zanoni — Husband — I will stay ! I
cannot part from thee ! No, no ! I will go to the room
where thy dear voice, with its gentle music, assuaged the
pangs of travail! — where, heard through the thrilling
darkness, it first whispered to my ear ' Yiola, thou art a

ZANONI. 173

mother I ' A mother ! — yes, I rise from my knees — I am
a mother ! They come ! I am firm ; farewell ! "

Yes ; thus suddenly, thus cruelly, whether in the de-
lirium of blind and unreasoning superstition, or in the
resolve of that conviction which springs from duty, the
being for whom he had resigned so much of empire and
of glory forsook Zanoni. This desertion, never foreseen,
never anticipated, was yet but the constant fate that at-
tends those who would place Mind beyond the earth, and
yet treasure the Heart ivithin it. Ignorance everlastingly
shall recoil from knowledge. But never yet, from nobler
and purer motives of self-sacrifice, did human love link
itself to another, than did the forsaking wife now abandon
the absent. For rightly had she said, that it was not the
faithless wife, it ivas the faithful mother that fled from all
in which her earthly happiness was centred.

As long as the passion and fervor that impelled the
act animated her with false fever, she clasped her infant
to her breast, and was consoled — resigned. But what
bitter doubt of her own conduct, what icy pang of remorse
shot through her heart, when, as they rested for a few
hours on the road to Leghorn, she heard the woman who
accompanied herself and Glyndon pray for safety to reach
her husband's side, and strength to share the perils that
would meet her there ! Terrible contrast to her own de-
sertion ! She shrunk into the darkness of her own heart,
— and then no voice from within consoled her.
15*

114 ZANONI

CHAPTER IX.

Zukunft hast du mir gegeben,
Doch du nehmst den Augenblick.*

KaS SANDRA.

" Mejnour, behold thy work ! Out, out upon our little
vanities of wisdom ! — out upon our ages of lore and life I
To save her from Peril, I left her presence, and the Peril
has seized her in its grasp ! "

" Chide not thy wisdom, but thy passions ! Abandon
thine idle hope of the love of woman. See, for those who
would unite the lofty with the lowly, the inevitable curse ;
thy very nature uncoraprehended — thy sacrifices unguessed.
The lowly one views but in the lofty a necromancer or a
fiend. Titan, canst thou weep ? "

"I know it now — I see it all ! — It was her spirit that
stood beside our own, and escaped my airy clasp ! O
strong desire of motherhood and nature ! unveiling all
our secrets, piercing space and traversing worlds ! — Mej-
nour, what awful learning lies hid in the ignorance of the
heart that loves ! "

"The heart," answered the Mystic, coldly; "ay, for
five thousand years I have ransacked the mysteries of

* Futurity hast thou given to rae — yet thou takest from me the
Moment.

ZANONT. nS

creation ; but I have not yet discovered all the wonders
in the heart of the simplest boor !"

" Yet our solemn rites deceived us not ; the prophet-
shadows, dark with terror and red with blood, still foretold
that, even in the dungeon, and before the deathsman, I —
^ I had the power to save them both I "

"But at some unconjectured and most fatal sacrifice to
thyself."

" To myself! Icy sage, there is no self in love ! I go.
Nay, alone : I want thee not. I want now no other guide
but the human instincts of affection. No cave so dark —
no solitude so vast, as to conceal her. Though mine art
fail me — though the stars heed me not — though space,
with its shining myriads, is again to me but the azure
void, — I return but to love, and youth, and hope ! when
have they ever failed to triumph and to save ! "

BOOK SEVENTH

THE REIGN OF TERROR.

CHAPTER I.

Qui suis-je, moi qu'on accuse ? Un esclave de la Libert^, un mar-
tyr vivant de la Republique.* — Discours de Robespierre, 8

Thermidor.

It roars — the River of Hell, whose first outbreak was
chanted as the gush of a channel to Elysium. How burst
into blossoming hopes fair hearts that had nourished
themselves on the diamond dews of the rosy dawn, when
Liberty came from the dark ocean, and the arms of de-
crepit Thraldom — Aurora from the bed of Tithon !
Hopes ! ye have ripened into fruit, and the fruit is gore
and ashes ! Beautiful Roland, eloquent Yergniaud, vis-
ionary Condorcet, high-hearted Malesherbes ! — wits,
philosophers, statesmen, patriots, — dreamers I behold the
millennium for which ye dared and labored !

I invoke the ghosts ! Saturn hath devoured his chil-
dren,f and lives alone — in his true name of Moloch !

* Who am I, /whom they accuse? A slave of Liberty — a living

martyr for the Republic,

f La Revolution est comme Saturne, elle ddvorera tous ses enfans.

— Vergniaud.

(176)

ZANONI. lYT

It is the Reign of Terror, with Robespierre the king.
The struggles between the boa and the lion are past ; the
boa has consumed the lion, and is heavy with the gorge ;
— Danton has fallen, and Caraille Desmonlins. Danton
had said before his death, "The poltroon Robespierre — ■
I alone could have saved him." From that hour, indeed,
the blood of the dead giant clouded the craft of " Max-
imilien the Incorruptible," as at last, amidst the din of
the roused Convention, it choked his voice.* If, after
that last sacrifice, essential, perhaps, to his safety, Robes-
pierre had proclaimed the close of the Reign of Terror,
and acted upon the mercy which Danton had begun to
preach, he might have lived and died a monarch. But
the prisons continued to reek — the glaive to fall ; and
Robespierre perceived not that his mobs were glutted to
satiety v/ith death, and the strongest excitement a chief
could give would be a return from devils into men.

We are transported to a room in the house of Citizen
Dupleix, the menuisier, in the month of July, 1794; or,
in the calendar of the Revolutionists, it was the Thermidor
oft he Second Year of the Republic, One and Indivisible !
Though the room was small, it was furnished and decor-
ated with a minute and careful efi'ort at elegance and
refinement. It seemed, indeed, the desire of the owner
to avoid at once what was mean and rude, and what was

* "Le sang de Danton fetouffe!" (the blood of Danton chokes
thee !) said Garnier de I'Aube, when, on the fatal 9th of Thermidor,
Robespiei-re gasped feebly forth — " Pour la derniere fois, President
cles Assassins, je te demande la parole." (For the last time. Presi-
dent of Assassins, I demand to speak.)

M

118 ZANONI.

luxurious and voluptuous. It was a trim, orderly, precise
grace that shaped the classic chairs, arranged the ample
draperies, sunk the frameless mirrors into the wall, placed
bust and bronze on their pedestals, and filled up the niches
here and there with well-bound books, filled regularly in
their appointed ranks. An observer would have said,
"This man wishes to imply to you — I am not rich; I
am not ostentatious ; I am not luxurious ; I am no indo-
lent Sybarite, with couches of down, and pictures that
provoke the sense ; I am no haughty noble, with spacious
halls, and -galleries that awe the echo. But so much the
greater is my merit if I disdain these excesses of the ease
or the pride, since I love the elegant, and have a taste I
Others may be simple and honest, from the very coarseness
of their habits ; if I, with so much refinement and delicacy,
am simple and honest, — reflect and admire me I"

On the walls of this chamber hung many portraits, most
of them represented but one face ; on the formal pedestals
were grouped many busts ; most of them sculptured but
one head. In that small chamber Egotism sat supreme,
and made the Arts its looking-glasses. Erect in a chair,
before a large table spread with letters, sat the original
of bust and canvas, the owner of the apartment. He was
alone, yet he sat erect, formal, stiff, precise, as if in his
very home he was not at ease. His dress was in harmony
with his posture and his chamber, it affected a neatness
of its own — foreign both to the sumptuous fashions of
the deposed nobles, and the filthy ruggedness of the sans-
culottes. Frizzled and coiffe, not a hair was out of order,

Z AN ONI. 179

not a speck lodged on the sleek surface of the blue coat,
not a wriukle crumpled the snowy vest, with its under-
relief of delicate pink. At the first glance, you might
have seen in that face nothing but the ill-favored features
of a sickly countenance. At a second glance, you would
have perceived that it had a power — a character of its
own. The forehead, though low and compressed, was not
without that appearance of thought and intelligence which,
it may be observed, that breadth between the eyebrows
almost invariably gives ; the lips were firm and tightly
drawn together, yet ever and anon they trembled, and
writhed restlessly. The eyes, sullen and gloomy, were
yet piercing, and full of a concentrated vigor, that did
not seem supported by the thin, feeble frame, or the green
lividness of the hues, which told of anxiety and disease.

Such was Maximilien Eobespierre ; such the chamber
over the memiisiers shop, whence issued the edicts that
launched armies on their career of glory, and ordained an
artificial conduit to carry off the blood that deluged the
metropolis of the most martial people on the globe ! Such
was the man who had resigned a judicial appointment
(the early object of his ambition), rather than violate his
philanthropical principles, by subscribing to the death of
a single fellow-creature ! — such was the virgin enemy to
capital punishments, and such, Butcher-Dictator now, was
the man whose pure and rigid manners, whose incorrupt-
ible honesty, whose hatred of the excesses that tempt to
love and wine, would — had he died five years earlier —
have left him the model for prudent fathers and careful

180 ZANONI.

citizens to place before their sons. Such was the man
who seemed to have no vice, till circumstance, that hot-
bed, brought forth the two which, in ordinary times, lie
ever the deepest and most latent in a man's heart — Cow-
ardice and Envy. To one of these sources is to be traced
every murder that master-fiend committed. His cowardice
was of a peculiar and strange sort ; for it was accompanied
with the most unscrupulous and determined will — a will
that Napoleon reverenced, — a will of iron, and yet nerves
of aspen. Mentally, he was a hero — physically, a dastard.
When the veriest shadow of danger threatened his person,
the frame cowered, but the will swept the danger to the
slaughter-house. So there he sat, bolt upright — his
small, lean fingers clenched convulsively — his sullen eyes
straining into space, their whites yellowed with streaks of
corrupt blood, his ears literally moving to and fro, like
the ignoble animal's, to catch every sound — a Dionysius
in his cave, — but his posture decorous and collected, and
every formal hair in its frizzled place.

" Yes, yes," he said, in a muttered tone, " I hear them ;
my good Jacobins are at their post on the stairs. Pity
they swear so ! I have a law against oaths — the manners
of the poor and virtuous people must be reformed. When
all is safe, an example or two amongst those good Jaco-
bins would make effect. Faithful fellows, how they love
me ! Hum ! — what an oath was that ! — they need not
swear so loud — upon the very staircase, too ! It detracts
from my reputation. Ha ! steps I "

The soliloquist glanced at the opposite mirror, and took

ZANONI. 181

up a volume ; he seemed absorbed in its contents, as a
tall fellow, a bludgeon in his hand, a girdle, adorned with
pistols, round his waist, opened the door, and announced
two visitors. The one was a young man, said to resemble
Robespierre in person ; but of a far more decided and
resolute, expression of countenance. He entered first, and
looking over the volume in Robespierre's hand, for the
latter seemed still intent on his lecture, exclaimed —
" What ! Rousseau's Heloise ? A love-tale ! "
" Dear Payan, it is not the love — it is the philosophy
that charms me. What noble sentiments ! — what ardor
of virtue ! If Jean Jacques had but lived to see this
day ! "

While the Dictator thus commented on his favorite
author, whom in his orations he labored hard to imitate,
the second visitor was wheeled into the room in a chair.
This man was also in what, to most, is the prime of life —
viz., about thirty-eight; but he was literally dead in the
lower limbs : crippled, paralytic, distorted, he was yet, as
the time soon came to tell him — a Hercules in Crime I
But the sweetest of human smiles dwelt upon his ^ps, a
beauty almost angelic characterized his features ; * an

* " Figure d' Ange," says one of his contemporaries, in describing
Couthon. The address, draAvn up most probably by Payan (Ther-
midor 9), after the arrest of Robespierre, thus mentions his crippled
colleague — "Couthon, ce citoyen vertueux, qui ri'a que le cceur et la
tste de viva?is, mais qui les a brulants de patriotisme." (a)

(a) Couthon, that virtuous citizen, who has but the head and
heart of the living, yet possesses these all on flame with patriotism,

IL — 16

182 ZANONI.

inexpressible aspect of kindness, and the resignation of
suffering but cheerfal benignity, stole into the hearts of
those who for the first time beheld him. With the most
caressing, silver, flute-like voice, Citizen Couthon saluted
the admirer of Jean Jacques.

" IN'ay — do not say it is not the love that attracts thee •
it h the love ! but not the gross, sensual attachment of
man for woman. No ! the sublime aflfection for the whole
human race, and, indeed, for all that lives ! "

And Citizen Couthon, bending down, fondled the little
spaniel that he invariably carried in his bosom, even to
the Convention, as a vent for the exuberant sensibilities
which overflowed his affectionate heart.*

"Yes, for all that lives," repeated Robespierre, ten-
derly. " Good Couthon — poor Couthon ! Ah, the malice
of men ! — how we are misrepresented ! To be calumniated
as the executioners of our colleagues ! Ah, it is that

* This tenderness for some pet animal was by no means peculiar
to Couthon ; it seems rather a common fashion with the gentle
butchers of the Revolution. M. George Daval informs us ('"Sou-
venirs cle la Terreur," vol. iii. p. 183), that Chauniette had an aviary,
to which lie devoted his harmless leisure; the murderous Fournier
carried, on his shoulders, a pretty little squirrel, attached by a silver
chain ; Panis bestowed the superfluity of his affections upon two
gold pheasants ; and Marat, who would not abate one of the three
liundred thousand heads he demanded, reared doves ! Apropos of
the spaniel of Couthon, Duval gives us an amusing anecdote of
Sergent, not one of the least relentless agents of the massacre of
September. A lady came to implore his protection for one of her
relations confined in the Abbaye, He scarcely deigned to speak to
her. As she retired in despair, she trod by accident on the paw of
his favorite spaniel. Sergent, turning round, enraged and furious,
exclaimed — ^'■Madam, have you no liumanily .'"'

ZANONI. 183

which pierces the heart ! To be an object of terror to
the enemies of our country — that is noble ; but to be an
object of terror to the good, the patriotic, to those one
loves and reveres — that is the most terrible of human
tortures ; at least to a susceptible and honest heart ! " *

" How I love to hear him ! " ejaculated Couthon.

"Hem!" said Payan, with some impatience. "But
now to business ! "

"Ah, to business ! " said Robespierre, with a sinister
glance from his bloodshot eyes.

"The time has come," said Payan, "when the safety
of the Republic demands a complete concentration of it«
power. These brawlers of the Comite du Salut Public
can only destroy ; they cannot construct. They hated
you, Maximilien, from the moment you attempted to
replace anarchy by institutions. How they mock at the
festival which proclaimed the acknowledgment of a Su-
preme Being : they would have no ruler, even in heaven !
Your clear and vigorous intellect saw that, having wrecked
an old world, it became necessary to shape a new one.
The first step towards construction must be to destroy
the destroyers. While we deliberate, your enemies act.
Better this very night to attack the handful of gen-darraes
that guard them, than to confront the battalions they may
raise to-morrow."

"No," said Robespierre, who recoiled before the deter-

* Not to fatigue the reader with annotations, I may here observe
that nearly every sentiment ascribed in the text to Robespierre, is
to be found expressed in his various discourses.

184 ZANONI.

mined spirit of Payan ; ''I have a better and safer plan.
This is the 6th of Thermidor ; on the 10th — on the 10th,
the Convention go in a body to the Fete Decadaire. A
mob shall form ; the canonniers, the troops of Henriot,
the young pupils de VEcole de Mews, shall mix in the
crowd. Easy, then, to strike the conspirators whom we
shall designate to our agents. On the same day, too,
Fouquier and Dumas shall not rest ; and a sufficient num-
ber of 'the suspect^ to maintain salutary awe, and keep
up the revolutionary excitement, shall perish by the glaive
of the law. The 10th shall be the great day of action. —
Payan, of these last culprits, have you prepared a list ? "

" It is here," returned Payan, laconically, presenting a
paper.

Robespierre glanced over it rapidly. " Collot d'Her-
bois ! — good ! Barrere ! — ay, it was Barrere who said,
' Let us strike ; — the dead alone never return.'* Yadier,
the savage jester ! — good — good ! Yadier of the Moun-
tain. He has called me 'Mahomet!'' Scelerat f blasphe-
mer ! "

" Mahomet is coming to the mountain," said Couthon,
with his silvery accent, as he caressed his spaniel.

" But how is this ? I do not see the name of Tallien I
Tallien — I hate that man; that is," said Robespierre,
correcting himself with the hypocrisy or self-deceit which
those who formed the council of this phrase-monger exhib-
ited habitually, even among themselves — " that is, Yirtue
and our Country hate him ! There is no man in the whole

* " Frappons ! il n'y a que les morts qui ne revient pass." — Barrere.

ZANONI. • I8i>

Convention who inspires me with the same horror as Tal-
lien. Couthon, I see a thousand Dantons v/here Tallien
sits ! "

" Tallien has the only head that belongs to this de-
formed body," said Payan, whose ferocity and crime, like
those of St. Just, were not unaccompanied by talents of
no common order. "Were it not better to draw away
the head, to win, to buy him, for the time, and dispose
of him better when left alone ? He may hate you, but
he loves money I ^^

''Xo," said Robespierre, writing down the name of
Jean Lambert Tallien, with a slow hand, that shaped each
letter with stern distinctness ; " that one head is my neces-
sity ! "

"I have a small list here," said Couthon, sweetly —
" a very small list. You are dealing with the Mountain ;
it is necessary to make a few examples in the Plain.
These moderates are as straws which follow the wind.
They turned against us yesterday in the Convention. A
little terror will correct the weathercocks. Poor creatures !
I owe them no ill-will ; I could weep for them. But be-
fore all, la chere patrie I "

The terrible glance of Robespierre devoured the list
which the man of sensibility submitted to him. "Ah, these
are well chosen ; men not of mark enough to be regretted,
which is the best policy with the relics of that party ; some,
foreigners too; — yes, they have no parents in Paris.
These wives and parents are beginning to plead against
us. Their complaints demoralize the guillotine ! "
16*

186 Z AN ONI.

" Couthon is right," said Payan ; " my list contains
those whom it will be safer to dispatch en masse in the
crowd assembled at the Fete. His list selects those whom
we may prudently consign to the law. Shall it not be
si2:ned at once ? "

"It is signed," said Kobespierre, formally replacing his
pen upon the inkstand. " Now to more important matters.
These deaths will create no excitement ; but Collot d'Her-
bois, Bourdon De I'Oise, Tallien," — the last name Robes-
pierre gasped as he pronounced — ^^ they are the heads of
parties. This is life or death to us as well as them."

"Their heads are the footstools to your curule chair,"
said Payan, in a half-whisper. " There is no danger if
we are bold. Judges, juries, all have been your selection.
You seize with one hand the army, with the other, the
law. Your voice yet commands the people "

" The poor and virtuous people," murmured Kobes-
pierre.

"And even," continued Payan, " if our design at the
Fete fail us, we must not shrink from the resources still at
our command. Keflect ! Henriot, the general of the
Parisian army, furnishes you with troops to arrest ; the
Jacobin club with a public to approve ; inexorable Dumas
with judges who never acquit. We must be bold I "

"And we are bold," exclaimed Robespierre, with sudden
passion, and striking his hand on the table as he rose,
with his crest erect, as a serpent in the act to strike. " In
seeing the multitude of vices that the revolutionary torrent
mingles with civic virtues, I tremble to be sullied in the

ZANONI. 18t

eyes of posterity by the impure neighborhood of these
perverse raen, who thrust themselves among the sincere
defenders of humanity. What! — they think to divide
the country like a booty I I thank them for their hatred
to all that is virtuous and worthy ! These men," — and
he grasped the list of Payan in his hand — " these ! — not
we — have drawn the line of demarcation between them-
selves and the lovers of France ! "

"True, we must reign alone !" muttered Payan ; "in
other words, the state needs unity of will ;" working, with
his strong practical mind, the corollary from the logic of
his word-compelling colleague !

" I will go to the Convention," continued Robespierre.
"I have absented myself too long — lest I might seem to
overawe the Republic that I have created. Away with
such scruples ! I will prepare the people ! I will blast
the traitors with a look ! "

He spoke with the terrible firmness of the orator that
had never failed — of the moral will that marched like a
warrior on the cannon. At that instant he was inter-
rupted ; a letter was brought to him : he opened it : his
face fell — he shook from limb to limb ; it was one of the
anonymous warnings by which the hate and revenge of
those yet left alive to threaten tortured the death-giver.

" Thou art smeared," ran the lines, "with the best blood
of France Read thy sentence ! I await the hour when
the people shall knell thee to the doomsman. If my hope
deceive me, if deferred too long — hearken — read ! This
hand, which thine eyes shall search in vain to discover,

188 Z AN ONI.

shall pierce thy heart. I see thee every day — I am with
thee every day. At each hour my arm rises against thy
breast. Wretch ! live yet awhile, though but for few and
miserable days — live to think of me — sleep to dream of
me ! Thy terror, and thy thought of me, are the heralds
of thy doom. Adieu ! this day itself, I go forth to riot
on thy fears ! " *

" Your lists are not full enough ! '' said the tyrant, with
a hollow voice, as the paper dropped from his trembliug
hand. " Give them to me ! — give them to me ! Think
again — think again ! Barrere is right — right ! ' Frap-
pons ! il n'y a que les morts qui ne revient pas ! "

CHAPTER II.

La haine, dans ces lieux, n'a qu'un glaive assassin.
Elle marclie dans I'ombre.f

La Harpe, Jeanne de Naples, Act iv. sc. 1.

While such were the designs and fears of Maximilien
Robespierre, common danger — common hatred, what-
ever was yet left of mercy or of virtue, in the agents of
the Revolution, served to unite strange opposites in
hostility to the universal death-dealer. There was, indeed,
an actual conspiracy at work against him among men little

■^ See Papiers inedits irouves chez Robespierre, &c. — vol. ii. p. 155.
(No Ix.)

•j- Hate, in these regions, has but the sword of the assassin. She
moves in the shade.

ZANONI. 189

less bespattered than himself with innocent blood. But
that conspiracy would have been idle of itself, despite the
abilities of Tallien and Barras (the only men whom it
comprised, worthy, by foresight and energy, the names of
"leaders"). The sure and destroying elements that
gathered round the tyrant were Time and ^NTature ; the
one, which he no longer suited ; the other, which he had
outraged and stirred up in the human breast. The most
atrocious party of the Revolution, the followers of Hebert,
gone to his last account, the butcher-atheists, who, in
desecrating heaven and earth, still arrogated inviolable
sanctity to themselves, were equally enraged at the exe-
cution of their filthy chief, and the proclamation of a
Supreme Being. The populace, brutal as it had been,
started as from a dream of blood, when their huge idol,
Danton, no longer filled the stage of terror, rendering
crime popular by that combination of careless frankness
and eloquent energy which endears their heroes to the
herd. The glaive of the guillotine had turned against
themselves. They had yelled and shouted, and sung and
danced, when the venerable age, or the gallant youth, of
aristocracy or letters, passed by their streets in the dismal
tumbrils ; but they shut up their shops, and murmured to
each other, when their own order was invaded, and tailors
and cobblers, and journeymen and laborers, were huddled
off to the embraces of the " Holy Mother Guillotine,"
with as little ceremony as if they had been the Montmo-
rencies or the La Tremouilles, the Malesherbes or the
Lavoisiers. "At this time," said Couthon, justly, " Les

190 ZANONI.

ombres de Danton, d'Hehert, de Chaiimette, se promenent
paynni nous I " *

Among those who had shared the doctrines, and who
now dreaded the fate of the atheist Hebert, was the
painter, Jean Nicot. Mortified and enraged to find that,
by the death of his patron, his career was closed ; and
that, in the zenith of the Revolution for which he had
labored, he was lurking in caves and cellars, more poor,
more obscure, more despicable than he had been, at the
commencement — not daring to exercise even his art, and
fearful every hour that his name would swell the lists of
the condemned ; he was naturally one of the bitterest
enemies of Robespierre and his government. He held
secret meetings with Collot d'Herbois, who was animated
by the same spirit ; and with the creeping and furtive
craft that characterized his abilities, he contrived, unde-
tected, to disseminate tracts and invectives against the
Dictator, and to prepare, amidst "the poor and virtuous
people, '^ the train for the grand explosion. But still so
firm to the eyes, even of profounder politicians than Jean
Nicot, appeared the sullen power of the incorruptible
Maximilien ; so timorous was the movement against him,
that Nicot, in common with many others, placed his hopes
rather in the dagger of the assassin, than the revolt of
the multitude. But Nicot, though not actually a coward,
shrunk himself from braving the fate of the martyr ; he
had sense enough to see that, though all parties might

* The shades of Danton, Hebert, and Chaumette, walk amongst us.

Z AN ONI. 191

rejoice in the assassination, all parties would probably
concur in beheading the assassin. He had not the virtue
to become a Brutus. His object was to inspire a proxy-
Brutus ; and in the centre of that inflammable population,
this was no improbable hope.

Amongst those loudest and sternest against the reign
of blood — amongst those most disenchanted of the Revo-
lution — amongst those most appalled by its excesses, was,
as might be expected, the Englishman, Clarence Glyndon.
The wit and accomplishments, the uncertain virtues that
had lighted with fitful gleams the mind of Camille Desmou-
lins, had fascinated Glyndon more than the qualities of
any other agent in the Revolution. And when (for Camille
Desmoulins had a heart, which seemed dead or dormant in
most of his contemporaries) that vivid child of genius
and of error, shocked at the massacre of the Girondins,
and repentant of his own efforts against them, began to
rouse the serpent malice of Robespierre by new doctrines
of mercy and toleration, Glyndon espoused his views with
his whole strength and soul. Camille Desmoulins perished,
and Glyndon, hopeless at once of his own life and the
cause of humanity, from that time, sought only the occa-
sion of flight from the devouring Golgotha. He had two
lives to heed besides his own ; for them he trembled, and
for them he schemed and plotted the means of escape.
Though Glyndon hated the principles, the party,* and

* None were more opposed to the H^bertists than Camille Des-
moulins and his friends. It is curious and amusing to see these
leaders of the mob, calling the mob "the people," one day, and

192 ZANONI.

the vices of Nicot, he yet extended to the painter's penury
the means of subsistence ; and Jean Nicot, in return,
designed to exalt Glyndon to that very immortality of a
Brutus, from which he modestly recoiled himself. He
founded his designs on the physical courage, on the wild
and unsettled fancies of the English artist ; and on the
vehement hate, and indignant loathing, with which he
openly regarded the government of Maximilien.

At the same hour, on the same day in July, in which
Kobespierre conferred (as we have seen) with his allies,
two persons were seated in a small room, in one of the
streets leading out of the Rue St. Honore ; the one, a
man, appeared listening impatiently, and with a sullen
brow, to his companion, a woman of singular beauty, but
with a bold and reckless expression, and her face as she
spoke was animated by the passions of a half-savage and
vehement nature.

"Englishman," said the woman, "beware — you know
that, whether in flight or at the place of death, I would
brave all to be by your side — you know that ! Speak ! "

"Well, Fillide ; did I ever doubt your fidelity ? "

"Doubt it you cannot — betray it you may. You tell
me that in flight you must have a companion besides my-
self, and that companion is a female. It shall not be ! "

" Shall not ! "

"It shall not!'' repeated Fillide, firmly, and folding

the "canaille" the next, according as it suits them. "I know,"
says Camille, "that they (the H^bertists) have all the canaille with
them." (lis ont toute la canaille pour eux.)

Z AN ON I. 193

her arms across her breast ; before Glyndon could reply,
a slight knock at the door was heard, and Nicot opened
the latch and entered.

Fillide sank into her chair, and leaning her face on her
hands, appeared unheeding of the intruder, and of the
conversation that ensued.

"I cannot bid thee good day, Glyndon," said Nicot,
as in his sans-culotte fashion he strode towards the artist,
his ragged hat on his head, his hands in his pockets, and
the beard of a week's growth upon his chin — "I cannot
bid thee good day, for while the tyrant lives, evil is every
sun that sheds its beams on France,"

'' It is true ; what then ? We have sown the wind, we
must reap the whirlwind."

"And yet," said Nicot, appaiently not heeding the
reply, and as if musingly to himself, " it is strange to
think that the butcher is as mortal as the butchered —
that his life hangs on as slight a thread — that between
the cuticle and the heart there is as short a passage —
that, in short, one blow can free France, and redeem man*
kind ! "

Glyndon surveyed the speaker with a careless and
haughty scorn, and made no answer.

"And," proceeded Nicot, "I have sometimes looked
round for the man born for this destiny, and whenever I
have done so, my steps have led me hither ! "

" Should they not rather have led thee to the side of
Maximilien Robespierre ? " said Glyndon, with a sneer.

"No," returned Nicot, coldly — " no ; for I am a ^ sus-

II. — IT N

1 94 Z A N 0 N I .

pectj^ — I could not mix with his train; I could not
approach within a hundred yards of his "person, but I
should be seized ; you, as yet, are safe. Hear rae ! " —
and his voice became earnest and expressive — ''hear me !
There seems danger in this action ; there is none. I have
been with Collot d'Herbois and Billaud-Yarennes; they
will hold him harmless who strikes the blow; the popu-
lace would run to thy support ; the Convention would
hail thee as their deliverer — the "

"Hold, man ! How darest thou couple my name with
the act of'an assassin ? Let the tocsin sound from yonder
tower, to a war between Humanity and the Tyrant, and I
will not be the last in the field ; but liberty never yet
acknowledged a defender in a felon."

There was something so brave and noble in Glyndon's
voice, mien, and manner, as he thus spoke, that Nicot at
once was silenced ; at once he saw that he had misjudged
the man.

"No," said Fillide, lifting her face from her hands —
" no ! your friend has a wiser scheme in preparation ; he
would leave you wolves to mangle each other. He is
right; but "

" Flight ! " exclaimed Nicot ; "is it possible ? Flight !
how ? — when ? — by what means ? All France begirt with
spies and guards ! Flight ! would to Heaven it were in
our power ! "

" Dost thou, too, desire to escape the blessed Revolu-
tion?"

"Desire! Oh!" cried Nicot, suddenly, and, falling

ZANONI. 195

down, he clasped Glyndon's knees — '' Oh ! save me with
thyself ! My life is a torture ; every moment the guillotine
frowns before me. I know that my hours are numbered ;
I know that the tyrant waits but his time to write my
name in his inexorable list ; I know that Rene Dumas,
the judge who never pardons, has, from the first, resolved
upon my death. Oh ! Glyndon, by our old friendship —
by our common art — by thy loyal English faith, and good
English heart, let me share thy flight!"

"If thou wilt, so be it."

" Thanks ! — my whole life shall thank thee. But how
hast thou prepared the means — the passports, the disguise,
the "

" I will tell thee. Thou knowest C , of the Con-
vention— he has power, and he is covetous. ' Qu^on me
nieprise, pourvu que je dine,'"^ said he, when reproached
for his avarice."

"Well?"

" By the help of this sturdy republican, who has friends
enough in the Comite, I have obtained the means necessary
for flight ; I have purchased them. For a consideration,
I can procure thy passport also."

"Thy riches, then, are not in assignats P^

"No, I have gold enough for us all."

And here Glyndon, beckoning Nicot into the next room,
first briefly and rapidly detailed to him the plan proposed,
and the disguises to be assumed conformably to the
passports, and then added — " In return for the service I

* Let them despise me, provided that I dine.

196 Z ANON I.

render thee, grant me one favor, which I think is in thy
power. Thou rememberest Viola Pisani?"

" Ah — remember, yes ! — and the lover with whom she
fled."

"And from whom she is a fugitive now."

" Indeed — what ! — I understand. Sacre bleu f but
you are a lucky fellow, cher confrere^

" Silence, man ! with thy eternal prate of brotherhood
and virtue, thou seemest never to believe in one kindly
action, or one virtuous thought ! "

Nicot bit his lip, and replied, sullenly, "Experience is
a great undeceiver. Humph ! What service can I do
thee, with regard to the Italian ? "

"I have been accessary to her arrival in this city of
snares and pitfalls. I cannot leave her alone amidst dan-
gers from which neither innocence nor obscurity is a safe-
guard. In your blessed Republic, a good and unsuspected
citizen, who casts a desire on any woman, maid or wife,
has but to say, 'Be mine, or I denounce you I ' — In a
word, Yiola must share our flight."

"What so easy? I see your passports provide for
her."

" What so easy ! What so difficult ? This Fillide —
would that I had never seen her! — would that I had
never enslaved my soul to my senses I The love of an
uneducated, violent, unprincipled woman, opens with a
heaven, to merge in a hell! She is jealous as all the
Furies, she will not hear of a female companion ; — and
when once she sees the beauty of Viola ! — I tremble to

ZANONI. 19t

think of it. She is capable of any excess in the storm
of her passions."

" Aha, I know what such women are ! My wife, Bea-
trice Sacchini, whom I took from Naples, when I failed
with this very Yiola, divorced me when my money failed,
and, as the mistress of a judge, passes me in her carriage
while I crawl through the streets. Plague on her ! — but
patience, patience ! such is the lot of virtue. Would I
were Robespierre for a day ! "

" Cease these tirades ! " exclaimed Glyndon, im-
patiently ; " and to the point. What would you advise ? "

"Leave your Fillide beWnd."

"Leave her to her own ignorance — leave her unpro-
tected even by the mind — leave her in the Saturnalia of
Rape and Murder? — No! I have sinned against her
once. But come what may, I will not so basely desert
one who, with all her errors, trusted her fate to my love."

"You deserted her at Marseilles."

" True ; but I left her in safety, and I did not then
believe her love to be so deep and faithful. I left her
gold, and I imagined she would be easily consoled ; but,
since then, we have knoiun danger together'/ And now
to leave her alone to that danger which she would never
have incurred but for devotion to me ! — no, that is im-
possible ! A project occurs to me. Canst thou not say
that thou hast a sister, a relative, or a benefactress, whom
thou wouldst save ? Can we not — till we have left France
— make Fillide believe that Yiola is one in whom thou

198 Z AN ON I.

only art interested ; and whom, for thy sake only, I per-
mit to share in our escape ? "

"Ha, well thought of! — certainly!"

" I will then appear to yield to Fillide's wishes, and
resign the project, which she so resents, of saving the
innocent object of her frantic jealousy. You, meanwhile,
shall yourself, entreat Fillide to intercede with me, to
extend the means of escape to "

" To a lady (she knows I have no sister) who has aided
me in my distress. Yes, I will manage all, never fear.
One word more — what has become of that Zanoni?"

"Talk not of him— I know not."

" Does he love this girl still ? "

" It would seem so. She is his wife, the mother of his
infant, who is with her."

"Wife! — mother! He loves her! Aha I And
why "

" No questions now. I will go and prepare Yiola for
the flight ; you, meanwhile, return to Fillide."

"But the address of the Neapolitan ? It is necessary
I should know, lest Fillide inquire."

''Rue M T , No. 2*7. Adieu."

Glyndon seized his hat, and hastened from the house.

Nicot left alone, seemed for a few moments buried in
thought. "Oho," he muttered to himself, "can I not
turn all this to my account ? Can I not avenge myself
on thee, Zanoni, as I have so often sworn — through thy
wife and child. Can I not possess myself of thy gold.

Z AN ONI. 199

thy passports, and thy Fillide, hot Englishraau, who
wouldst humble me with thy loathed benefits, and who
hast chucked me thine alms as to a beggar ? And Fillide, '
I love her: and thy gold, I love that more! Puppets, I
move your strings ! "

He passed slowly into the chamber where Fillide yet
sat, wath gloomy thought on her brow and tears standing
in her dark eyes. She looked up eagerly as the door
opened, and turned from the rugged face of Nicot with
an impatient movement of disappointment.

"Glyndon," said the painter, drawing a chair to Fil-
lide's, "has left me to enliven your solitude, fair Italian.
He is not jealous of the ugly Nicot ! — ha, ha ! — yet Nicot
loved thee well once, when his fortunes were more fair.
But enough of such past follies."

"Your friend, then, has left the house. Whither ? Ah !
you look away — you falter — you cannot meet my eyes !
Speak ! I implore, I command thee, speak ! "
^^Enfant! and what dost thou fear?"
''Fear! — yes, alas, I fear ! " said the Italian; and her
whole frame seemed to shrink into itself as she fell once
more back into her seat.

Then, after a pause, she tossed the long hair from her
eyes, and, starting up abruptly, paced the room with dis-
ordered strides. At length she stopped opposite to Nicot,
laid her hand on his arm, drew him towards an escritoire,
which she unlocked, and -opening a well, pointed to the
gold that lay within, and said — ''Thou art poor — thou

200 ' ZANONI. -*

lovest money ; take what thou wilt, but undeceive me.
Who is this woman whom thy friend visits ? — and does
he love lier ? "

Nicot's eyes sparkled, and his hands opened and clenched,
and clenched and opened, as he gazed upon the coins.
But reluctantly resisting the impulse, he said, with an
aflfected bitterness — " Thinkest thou to bribe me ? — if so,
it cannot be with gold. But what if he does love a rival?
— what if he does betray thee ? — what if, wearied by thy
jealousies, he designs in his flight to leave thee behind ?
■ — would such knowledge make thee happier?"

"Yes!" exclaimed the Italian, fiercely; "yes, for it
would be happiness to hate and to be avenged ! Oh,
thou knowest not how sweet is hatred to those who have
really loved."

"But wilt thou swear, if I reveal to thee the secret,
that thou wilt not betray me — that thou wilt not fall, as
women do, into weak tears and fond reproaches when thy
betrayer returns ? "

"Tears — reproaches ! — Revenge hides itself in smiles ! "
" Thou art a brave creature ! " said Nicot, almost
admiringly. " One condition more : thy lover designs to
fly with his new love, to leave thee to thy fate ; if I prove
this to thee, and if I give thee revenge against thy rival,
wilt thou fly with me ? I love thee ! — I will wed thee ! "
Fillide's eyes flashed fire ; she looked at him with un-
utterable disdain, and was silent.

Nicot felt he had gone too far ; and with that know-

ZANONI. - 201

ledge of the evil part of oiir nature, which his own heart
and association with crime had taught him, he resolved
to trust the rest to the passions of the Italian, when raised
to the height to which he was prepared to lead them.

" Pardon me," he said : " my love made me too pre-
sumptuous ; and yet it is only that love — my sympathy
for thee, beautiful and betrayed, that can induce me to
wrong, with my revelations, one whom I have regarded
as a brother. I can depend upon thine oath to conceal
all from Glyndon ? "

" On my oath, and my wrongs, and my mountain blood !"

"Enough ! get thy hat and mantle, and follow me."
, As Fillide left the room, Nicot's eyes again rested on
the gold; it was much — much more than he had dared
to hope for ; and as he peered into the well, and opened
the drawers, he perceived a packet of letters in the well-
known hand of Camille Desmoulins. He seized — he
opened the packet ; his looks brightened as he glanced
over a few sentences, " This would give fifty Glyndons
to the guillotine ! " he muttered, and thrust the packet
into his bosom.

O Artist! — 0 haunted one! — 0 erring Genius! —
Behold the two worst foes — the False Ideal that knows
no God, and the False Love that burns from the cor-
ruption of the senses, and takes no lustre from the soul I

202 ZANONI.

CHAPTER III.

Liebe sonnt das Reich der Nacht.*

DER TRIUMPH DER LIEBE.

LETTER FROM ZANONI TO MEJNOUR.

Paris.

Dost thou remember in the old time, when the Beau-
tiful yet dwelt in Greece, how we two, in the vast Athe-
nian Theatre, witnessed the birth of Words as undying as
ourselves ? Dost thou remember the thrill of terror that
ran through that mighty audience, when the wild Cas-
sandra burst from her awful silence to shriek to her
relentless god ! How ghastly, at the entrance of the
House of Atreus, about to become her tomb — rang out
her exclamations of foreboding woe — " Dwelling abhorred
of Heaven! — human shamble-house, and floor blood-
bespattered ! " f Dost thou remember how, amidst the
breathless awe of those assembled thousands, I drew close
to thee, and whispered, " Yerily, no prophet like the
Poet ! This scene of fabled horror comes to me as a
dream, shadowing forth some likeness in my own remoter
future ! " As I enter this slaughter-house, that scene
returns to me, and I hearken to the voice of Cassandra
rino-ing in my ears. A solemn and warning dread gathers

* Love illumes the realms of Night. f ^Esch. Agam., 1098

Z AN ON I. 203

round me, as if I too were come to find a grave, and " the
Net of Hades " bad already entangled me in its web !
What dark treasure-houses of vicissitude and woe are our
memories become ! What our lives, but the chronicles
of unrelenting Death ! It seems to me as yesterday when
I stood in the streets of this city of the Gaul, as they
shone with plumed chivalry, and the air rustled with
silken braveries. Young Louis, the monarch and the
lover, was victor of the Tournament at the Carousel ; and
all France felt herself splendid in the splendor of her
gorgeous chief! Now there is neither throne nor altar;
and what is in their stead ? I see it yonder — the guillo-
tine ! It is dismal to stand amidst the ruins of moulder-
ing cities, to startle the- serpent and the lizard amidst the
wrecks of Persepolis and Thebes ; but more dismal still
to stand as I — the stranger from Empires that have
ceased to be — stand now amidst the yet ghastlier ruins
of Law and Order, the shattering of mankind themselves !
Yet here, even here. Love, the Beautifier, that hath led
my steps, can walk with unshrinking hope through the
wilderness of Death ! Strange is the passion that makes
a world in itself, that individualizes the One amidst the
Multitude ; that, through all the changes of my solemn
life, yet survives, though ambition, and hate, and anger,
are dead ; the one solitary angel, hovering over a uni-
verse of tombs on its two tremulous and human wings —
Hope and Fear !

How is it, Mejnour, that, as my diviner art abandoned
mo — as, in my search for Yiola, I was aided but by the

204 ZANONI. '

I

ordinary instincts of the merest mortal — how is it that I
have never desponded, that I have felt in every difficulty
the prevailing prescience that we should meet at last ?
So cruelly was every vestige of her flight concealed from
me — so suddenly, so secretly had she fled, that all the
spies, all the Authorities of Venice, could give me no
clue. All Italy I searched in vain ! Her young home at
Naples ! — how still, in its humble chambers, there seemed
to linger the fragrance of her presence ! All the sublimest
secrets of our lore failed me — failed to bring her soul
visible to mine ; yet morning and night, thou lone and
childless one, m.orning and night, detached from myself, I
can commune with my child ! There, in that most blessed,
typical, and mysterious of all relations, jSTature herself
appears to supply what Science would refuse. Space
cannot separate the Father's watchful soul from the cradle
of his first-born ! I know not of its resting-place and
home — my visions picture not the land — only the small
and tender life to which all space is as yet the heritage !
For to the infant, before reason dawns — before man's bad
passions can dim the essence that it takes from the ele-
ment it hath left, there is no peculiar country, no native
city, and no mortal language. Its soul as yet is the
denizen of all airs and of every world ; and in space its
soul meets with mine — the Child communes with the
Father! Cruel and forsaking one — thou for whom I
left the wisdom of the spheres — thou, whose fatal dower
has been the weakness and terrors of humanity — couldst
thou think that young soul less safe on earth because I

Z AN ONI. 205

would lead it evermore up to heaven ! Dost thou think
that I could have wronged mine own ? Didst thou not
know that in its serenest eyes the life that I gave it spoke
to warn, to upbraid the mother who would bind it to the
darkness and pangs of the prison-house of clay ? Didst
thou not feel that it was I who, permitted by the Heavens,
shielded it from suffering and disease? And in its won-
drous beauty, I blessed the holy medium through which, at
last, my spirit might confer with thine !

And how have I tracked them hither ? I learned that
thy pupil had been at Yenice. I could not trace the
young and gentle Neophyte of Parthenope in the de-
scription of the haggard and savage visitor who had come
to Yiola before she fled ; but when I would have sum-
moned his IDEA before me, it refused to obey ; and I knew
then that his fate had become entwined with Yiola's. I
have tracked him, then, to his Lazar House : I arrived
but yesterday ; I have not yet discovered him.

* * * ;|{ ;}{ ^

I have just returned from their courts of justice — dens
where tigers arraign their prey. I find not whom I would
seek. They are saved as yet ; but I recognize in the
crimes of mortals the dark wisdom of the Everlastina:.
Mejnour, I see here, for the first time, how majestic and
beauteous a thing is Death I Of what sublime virtues we
robbed ourselves, when, in the thirst for virtue, we attained
the art by which we can refuse to die ! — When in some
happy clime, where to breathe is to enjoy, the charnel-
house swallows up the young and fair — when, in the noble

11—18

206 ' Z AN ONI.

pursuit of knowledge, Death comes to the student, and
shuts out the enchanted land, which Avas opening to his
gaze, how natural for us to desire to live ; how natural
to make perpetual life the first object of research ! But
here, from my tower of time, looking over the darksome
past, and into the starry future, I learn how great hearts
feel what sweetness and glory there is to die for the things
they love ! I saw a father sacrificing himself for his son ;
he was subjected to charges which a w^ord of his could
dispel — he was mistaken for his boy. With what joy he
seized the error — confessed the noble crimes of valor and
fidelity which the son had indeed committed — and went
to the doom, exulting that his death saved the life he had
given, not in vain ! I saw women, young, delicate, in the
bloom of their beauty ; they had vowed themselves to
the cloister. Hands smeared with the blood of saints
opened the grate that had shut them from the world, and
bade them go forth, forget their vows, forswear the
Divine One these daemons would depose, find lovers and
helpmates, and be free. And some of these young hearts
had loved, and even, though in struggles, loved yet. Did
they forswear the vow ? Did they abandon the faith ?
Did even love allure them ? Mejnour, with one voice,
they preferred to die ! And whence comes this courage ?
because such hearts live in some more abstract and holier
life than their own. But to live for ever upon this
earth, is to live in nothing diviner than ourselves. Yes,
even amidst this gory butcherdom, God, the Ever-living,

vindicates to man the sanctity of Ilis servant. Death !

******

ZANONI. 201

Again I have seen thee in spirit ; I have seen and
blessed thee, my sweet child ! Dost thou not know me
also in th}^ dreams ? Dost thou not feel the beating of
mj heart through the veil of thy rosy slumbers ? Dost
thou not hear the wings of the brighter beings that I yet
can conjure around thee, to watch, to nourish, and to
save ? And when the spell fades at thy waking, when
thine eyes open to the day, will they not look round for
me, and ask thy mother, with their mute eloquence, "why
she has robbed thee of a father ? " -

Woman, dost thou not repent thee ? Flying from
imaginary fears, hast thou not come to the very lair of
terror, where Danger sits visible and incarnate ? Oh, if
we could but meet, wouldst thou not fall upon the bosom
thou hast so wronged, and feel, poor wanderer amidst the
storms, as if thou hadst regained the shelter ? Mejnour,
still my researches fail me. I mingle with all men, even
their judges and their spies, but I cannot yet gain the clue.
I know that she is here. I know it by an instinct ; the
breath of my child seems warmer and more familiar.

They peer at me with venomous looks, as I pass through
their streets. With a glance I disarm their malice, and
fascinate the basilisks. Everywhere I see the track and
scent the presence of the Ghostly One that dwells on the
Threshold, and whose victims are the souls that would
aspire, and can only /ear. I see its dim shapelessness
going before the men of blood, and marshalling their way.
Kobespierre passed rne with his furtive step. Those eyes
of horror were gnawing into his heart. I looked dowa

208 ZANONI.

upon their Senate ; the grim Phantom sat cowering on

its floor. It hath taken up its abode in the city of Dread-

And what in truth are these would-be builders of a new

world ? Like the students who have vainly struggled

after our supreme science, they have attempted what is

beyond their power ; they have passed from this solid

earth of usages and forms, into the land of shadow ; and

its loathsome keeper has seized them as its prey. I looked

into the tyrant's shuddering soul, as it trembled past me.

There, amidst the ruins of a thousand systems which aimed

at virtue, sat Crime, and shivered at its desolation. Yet

this man is the only Thinker, the only Aspirant, amongst

them all. He still looks for a future of peace and mercy,

to begin — ay ! at what date ? When he has swept away

every foe. Fool ! new foes spring from every drop of

blood. Led by the eyes of the Unutterable, he is walking

to his doom.

0 Yiola, thy innocence protects thee I Thou whom

the sweet humanities of love shut out even from the dreams

of aerial and spiritual beauty, making thy heart a universe

of visions fairer than the wanderer over the rosy Hesperus

can survey — shall not the same pure affection encompass

thee, even here, with a charmed atmosphere ; and terror

itself fall harmless on a life too innocent for wisdom ?
******

ZANONI. 200

CHAPTER lY.

Ombra piii che di notte, in cudi di luce
Raggio misto non e ;

* * * *

Nb piu il palagio appar, ne piii le sue
Vestigia ; n^ dlr puossi — egli qui fue.*

Ger. Lib., canto xvi. — Ixix.

The clubs are noisy with clamorous frenzy ; the leaders
are grim with schemes. Black Henriot flies here and
there, muttering to his armed troops — "Robespierre,
your beloved is in danger I " Robespierre stalks perturbed,
his list of victims swelling every hour. Tallien, the Mac-
duff to the doomed Macbeth, is whispering courage to his
pale conspirators. Along the streets heavily roll the
tumbrils. The shops are closed — the people are gorged
with gore and will lap no more. And night after night,
to the eighty theatres flock the children of the Revolution,
to laugh at the quips of comedy, and weep gentle tears
over imaginary woes !

In a small chamber, in the heart of the city, sits the
mother, watching over her child ! It is quiet, happy noon ;
the sun-light, broken by the tall roofs in the narrow street,
comes yet through the open casement, the impartial play-

* Darkness greater than of night, in which not a ray of light is
mixed ; ^ ^ The palace appears no more — not even a vestige
— nor can one say that it has been.

18* O

210 ZANONi:

fellow of the air, gleesome alike in temple and prison, hall
and hovel ; as golden and as blithe, whether it laugh over
the first hour of life, or quiver in its gay delight on the
terror and agony of the last ! The child, where it lay at
the feet of Yiola, stretched out its dimpled hands as if to
clasp the dancing motes that revelled in the beam. The
mother turned her eyes from the glory ; it saddened her
yet more.- — She turned and sighed.

Is this the same Yiola who bloomed fairer than their
own Idalia under the skies of Greece ? How changed I
How pale and worn ! She sat listlessly, her arms drooping
on her knee ; the smile that was habitual to her lips was
gone. A heavy, dull despondency, as if the life of life
were no more, seemed to weigh down her youth, and make
it weary of that happy sun ! In truth, her existence had
languished away since it had wandered, as some melan-
choly stream, from the source that fed it. The sudden
enthusiasm of fear or superstition that had almost, as if
still in the unconscious movements of a dream, led her to
fly from Zanoni, had ceased from the day which dawned
upon her in a foreign land. Then — there — she felt that
in the smile she had evermore abandoned lived her life.
She did not repent — she would not have recalled the
impulse that winged her flight. Though the enthusiasm
was gone, the superstition yet remained ; she still believed
she had saved her child from that dark and guilty sorcery,
concerning which the traditions of all lands are prodigal,
but in none do they find such credulity, or excite such
dread, as in the south of Italy. This impression was

ZANONI. 211

confirmed by the mysterious conversations of Glyndon,
and by her own perception of the fearful change that had
passed over one who^ represented himself as the victim of
the enchanters. She did not, therefore, repent — but her
very volition seemed gone.

On their arrival at Paris, Yiola saw her companion —
the faithful wife — no more. Ere three weeks were passed,
husband and wife had ceased to live.

And now, for the first time, the drudgeries of this hard
earth claimed the beautiful Neapolitan. In that profession,
giving voice and shape to poetry and song, in which her
first years were passed, there is, while it lasts, an excite-
ment in the art that lifts it from the labor of a calling.
Hovering between two lives, the Real and Ideal, dwells the
life of music and the stage. But that life was lost ever-
more to the idol of the eyes and ears of Naples. Lifted
to the higher realm of passionate love, it seemed as if the
fictitious genius which represents the thoughts of others
was merged in the genius that grows all thought itself.
It had been the worst infidelity to the Lost, to have de-
scended again to live on the applause of others. And so
— for she would not accept alms from Glyndon — so, by
the commonest arts, the humblest industry which the sex
knows, alone and unseen, she, who had slept on the breast
of Zanoni, found a shelter for their child. As when, in
the noble verse prefixed to this chapter, Armida herself
has destroyed her enchanted palace, — not a vestige of
that bower, raised of old by Poetry and Love, remained
to say " it had been ! "

212 ZANONI.

And the child avenged the father: it bloomed — it
thrived — it waxed strong in the light of life. But still
it seemed haunted and preserved by some other being than
her own. In its sleep there was that slumber, so deep and
rigid, which a thunderbolt could not have disturbed ; and
in such sleep often it moved its arms, as to embrace the
air : often its lips stirred with murmured sounds of indis-
tinct affection — not for her ; and all the while upon its
cheeks a hue of such celestial bloom — upon its lips, a
smile of such mysterious joy ! Then when it waked, its
eyes did not turn first to her — wistful, earnest, wandering,
they roved around, to fix on her pale face, at last, in mute
sorrow and reproach.

Never had Yiola felt before how mighty was her love
for Zanoni ; how thought, feeling, heart, soul, life — all
lay crushed and dormant in the icy absence to which she
had doomed herself! She heard not the roar without, she
felt not one amidst those stormy millions, — worlds of ex-
citement laboring through every hour. Only when Glyn-
don, haggard, wan, and spectre-like, glided in, day after
day, to visit her, did the fair daughter of the careless
South know how heavy and universal was the Death-Air
that girt her round. Sublime in her passive unconscious-
ness— her mechanic life — she sat, and feared not, in the
den of the Beasts of Prey !

The door of the room opened abruptly, and Glyndon
entered. His manner was more agitated than usual.

" Is it you, Clarence ? " she said, in her soft, languid
tones. "You are before the hour I expected you."

ZANONI. 213

"Who can count on his hours at Paris ?" returned
Glyndon, with a frightful smile. " Is it not enough that
I am here ? Your apathy in the midst of these sorrows,
appals me. You say calmly, 'Farewell!' — calmly you
bid me 'Welcome !' — as if in every corner there was not
a spy, and as if with every day there was not a massacre ! "

"Pardon me! But in these walls lies my world. I
can hardly credit all the tales you tell me. Everything
here, save that (and she pointed to the infant) seems al-
ready so lifeless, that in the tomb itself one could scarcely
less heed the crimes that are done without."

Glyndon paused for a few moments, and gazed with
strange and mingled feelings upon that face and form, still
so young, and yet so invested with that saddest of all
repose, — when the heart feels old.

" 0 Yiola ! " said he, at last, and in a voice of sup-
pressed passion ; " was it thus I ever thought to see you
— ever thought to feel for you, when we two first met in
the gay haunts of Naples ? Ah ! why then, did you refuse
my love ? — or why was mine not worthy of you ? Nay,
shrink not! — let me touch your hand. No passion so
sweet as that youthful love can return to me again. I feel
for you but as a brother for some younger and lonely
sister. With you, in your presence, sad though it be, I
seem to breathe back the purer air of my early life. Here
alone, except in scenes of turbulence and tempest, the
Phantom ceases to pursue me. I forget even the Death
that stalks behind, and haunts me as my shadow. But
better days may be in store for us yet. Yiola, I at last

214 ZANONI.

begin dimly to perceive how to baffle end subdue the
Phantom that has cursed my life — it is to brave, and
defy it. In sin and in riot, as I have told thee, it haunts
me not. But I comprehend now what Mejnour said in
his dark apothegms, 'that I should dread the spectre most
ivhen unseen.^ In virtuous and calm resolution it appears
— ay, I behold it now — there — there with its livid eyes !
(and the drops fell from his brow). But it shall no longer
daunt me from that resolution. I face it, and it gradually
darkens back into the shade." He paused, — and his eyes
dwelt with a terrible exultation upon the sun-lit space ;
then, with a heavy and deep-drawn breath, he resumed —
" Yiola, I have found the means of escape. We will leave
this city. In some other land we will endeavor to comfort
each other, and forget the past."

''No," said "Viola, calmly ; "I have no further wish to
stir, till I am borne hence to the last resting-place. I
dreamed of him last night, Clarence ! — dreamed of him
for the first time since we parted : and, do not mock me,
methought that he forgave the deserter, aud called me
'Wife.' That dream hallows the room. Perhaps it will
visit me again before I die."

" Talk not of him — of the demi-fiend ! " cried Glyndon,
fiercely, and stamping his foot. " Thank the Heavens for
any fate that hath rescued thee from him."

" Hush ! " said Yiola, gravely. And as she was about
to proceed, her eye fell upon the child. It was standing
in the very centre of that slanting column of light which
the sun poured into the chamber ; and the rays seemed to

ZANONI. 215

surround it as a halo, and settled, crown-like, on the gold
of its shining hair. In its small shape, so exquisitely
modelled — in its large, steady, tranquil eyes, there was
something that awed, while it charmed the mother's pride.
It gazed on Glyndon as he spoke, with a look which
almost might have seemed disdain, and which Yiola, at
least, interpreted as a defence of the Absent, stronger
than her own lips could frame.

Glyndon broke the pause.

" Thou wouldst stay — for what ? To betray a mother's
duty ! If an evil happen to thee here, what becomes of
thine infant ? — Shall it be brought up an orphan, in a
country that has desecrated thy religion, and where human
charity exists no more ! Ah, weep, and clasp it to thy
bosom ! But tears do not protect and save."

" Thou hast conquered, my friend — I will fly with thee."

" To-morrow night, then, be prepared. I will bring
thee the necessary disguises."

And Glyndon then proceeded to sketch rapidly the out-
line of the path they were to take, and the story they were
to tell. Yiola listened, but scarcely comprehended : he
pressed her hand to his heart and departed.

216 ZANONI.

CHAPTER Y.

van seco pur anco

Sdegno ed Amor, quasi due Veltrj al fianco.*

Gee. Lib., cant. xx. cxvii.

Glyndon did not perceive, as he hurried from the house,
two forms crouching by the angle of the wall. He saw
still the spectre gliding by his side, but he beheld not the
yet more poisonous eyes of human envy and woman's
jealousy that glared on his retreating footsteps.

Nicot advanced to the house ; Fillide followed him in
silence. The Painter, an old sans-culotte, knew well what
language to assume to the porter. He beckoned the
latter from his lodge — " How is this. Citizen ? Thou
harborest a ' suspect.'' ^^

"Citizen, you terrify me! — if so, name him."

" It is not a man ; a refugee — an Italian woman lodges
here."

"Yes, au troisieme — the door to the left. But what
of her ? — she cannot be dangerous, poor child ] "

" Citizen, beware I Dost thou dare to pity her ? "

"I? No, no, indeed. But "

" Speak the truth ! Who visits her ? "

* There went with him still Disdain and Love, like two grey-
hounds side by side.

ZANONI. 21t

"No one but an Englishman."

"That is it — an Englishman, a spy of Pitt and Co-
burg."

" Just Heaven ! — is it possible ? "

" How, Citizen ! dost thou speak of Heaven ? Thou
must be an aristocrat ! "

" No, indeed ; it was but an old bad habit, and escaped
me unawares."

" How often does the Englishman visit her ? "

"Daily."

Fillide uttered an exclamation.

"She never stirs out," said the porter. "Her sole
occupations are in work, and care of her infant.''

" Her infant ! "

Fillide made a bound forward. Nicot in vain endeavored
to arrest her. She sprung up the stairs ; she paused not
till she was before the door indicated by the porter ; it
stood ajar — she entered — she stood at the threshold, and
beheld that face, still so lovely ! The sight of so much
beauty left her hopeless. And the child, over whom the
mother bent I — she who had never been a mother ! — she
uttered no sound — the furies were at work within her
breast. Yiola turned, and saw her; and, terrified by the
strange apparition, with features that expressed the dead-
liest hate and scorn, and vengeance, uttered a cry, and
snatched the child to her bosom. The Italian laughed
aloud — turned, descended, and, gaining the spot where
Nicot still conversed with the frightened porter, drew him

II. — 19

218 ZANONI.

from the house. When they were in the open street, she
halted abruptly, and said, ''Avenge me, and name thy
price ! "

" My price, sweet one I is but permission to love thee.
Thou wilt fly with me to-morrow night ; thou wilt possess
thyself of the passports and the plan."

''And they "

" Shall, before then, find their asylum in the Concierge-
rie. The guillotine shall requite thy wrongs."

"Do tliis, and I am satisfied," said Fillide, firmly.

And they spoke no more till they regained the house.
But when she there, looking up to the dull building, saw
the windows of the room which the belief of Glyndon's
love had once made a paradise, the tiger relented at the
heart ; something of the woman gushed back upon her
nature, dark and savage as it was. She pressed the arm
on which she leaned convulsively, and exclaimed — "No,
no ! — not him ! denounce her — let her perish ; but I have
slept on his bosom — not him/^^

"It shall be as thou wilt," said Nicot, with a devil's
sneer; "but he must be arrested for the moment. No
harm shall happen to him, for no accuser shall appear.
But her — thou wilt not relent for her?"

Fillide turned upon him her eyes, and their dark glance
was sufficient answer.

ZANONI. 219

CHAPTER VI.

In poppa quella
Che guidar gli dovea, fatal Donsella. *

Ger. Lib., cant. sv. 3.

The Italian did not overrate that craft of simnlation
proverbial with her country and her sex. ISTot a word,
not a look, that day revealed to Glyndon the deadly change
that had converted devotion into hate. He himself, indeed,
absorbed in his own schemes, and in reflections on his own
strange destiny, was no nice observer. But her manner,
milder and more subdued than usual, produced a soften-
ing effect upon his meditations towards the evening ; and
he then began to converse with her on the certain hope of
escape, and on the future that would await them in less
unhallowed lands,

"And thy fair friend," said Fillide, with an averted eye
and a false smile, " who was to be our companion. Thou
hast resigned her, JN'icot tells me, in favor of one in whom
he is interested. Is it so ? "

" He told' thee this ! " returned Glyndon, evasively.
"Well! does the change content thee?"

" Traitor ! " muttered Fillide ; and she rose suddenly,
approached him, parted the long hair from his forehead,
caressingly, and pressed her lips convulsively on his brow.

* By the prow was the fatal lady ordiined to be the guide.

220 ZANONI.

" This were too fair a head for the doomsman," said
she, with a slight laugh, and, turning away, appeared
occupied in preparations for their departure.

The next morning, when he rose, Glyndon did not see
the Italian ; she was absent from the house when he left

it. It was necessary that he should once more visit C

before his final departure, not only to arrange for Nicot's
participation in the flight, but lest any suspicion should
have arisen to thwart or endanger the plan he had adopted.
C , though not one of the immediate coterie of Robes-
pierre, and indeed secretly hostile to him, had possessed
the art of keeping well with each faction as it rose to
power. Sprung from the dregs of the populace, he had,
nevertheless, the grace and vivacity so often found impar-
tially amongst every class in France. He had contrived
to enrich himself — none knew how — in the course of
his rapid career. He became, indeed, ultimately one of
the wealthiest proprietors of Paris, and at that time kept
a splendid and hospitable mansion. He was one of those
whom, from various reasons, Robespierre deigned to
favor ; and he had often saved the proscribed and sus-
pected, by procuring them passports under disguised

names, and advising their method of escape. But C

was a man who took this trouble only for the rich. " The
incorruptible Maximilien," who did not want the tyrant's
faculty of penetration, probably saw through all his
manoeuvres, and the avarice which he cloaked beneath
his charity. But it was noticeable, that Robespierre
frequently seemed to wink at — nay, partially to encour-

ZANONI. 221

age — such vices in men whom he meant hereafter to
destroy, as would tend to lower them in the public esti-
mation, and to contrast with his own austere and unas-
sailable integrity and ■purism. And, doubtless, he often
grimly smiled in his sleeve at the sumptuous mansion,

and the griping covetousness of the worthy citizen C .

To this personage, then, Glyndon musingly bent his
way. It was true, as he had darkly said to Yiola, that
in proportion as he had resisted the spectre, its terrors
had lost their influence. The time had come at last, when,
seeing crime and vice in all their hideousness, and in so
vast a theatre, he had found that in vice and crime there
are deadlier horrors than in the eyes of a phantom-fear.
His native nobleness began to return to him. As he passed
the streets, he revolved in his mind projects of future
repentance and reformation. He even meditated, as a,
just return for Fillide's devotion, the sacrifice of all the
reasonings of his birth and education. He would repair
whatever errors he had committed against her, by the
self-immolation of marriage with one little congenial with
himself. He who had once revolted from marriage with
the noble and gentle Yiola! — he had learned in that
world of wrong to know that right is right, and that
Heaven did not make the one sex to be the victim of the
other. The young visions of the Beautiful and the Good
rose once more before him*: and along the dark ocean of
his mind lay the smile of re-awakening virtue, as a path
of moon-light. Never, perhaps, had the condition of his
soul been so elevated and unselfish.

222 ZANONI.

In the meanwhile, Jean Nicot, equally absorbed in
dreams of the future, and already in his own mind laying
out to the best advantage the gold of the friend he was
about to betray, took his way to the house honored by
the residence of Robespierre. He had no intention to
comply with the relenting prayer of Fillide, that the life
of Glyndon should be spared. He thought with Barrere,
^'il n'y a que les morts qui ne revient pas.^^ In all men
who have devoted themselves to any study, or any art,
with sufficient pains to attain a certain degree of excellence,
there must bo a fund of energy immeasurably above that
of the ordinary herd. Usually, this energy is concentred
on the objects of their professional ambition, and leaves
them, therefore, apathetic to the other pursuits of men.
But where those objects are denied, where the stream has
not its legitimate vent, the energy, irritated and aroused,
possesses the whole being, and if not wasted on desultory
schemes, or if not purified by conscience and principle,
becomes a dangerous and destructive element in the social
system, through which it wanders in riot and disorder.
Hence, in all wise monarchies — nay, in all well-constituted
states, the peculiar care with which channels are opened
for every art and every science ; hence the honor paid to
their cultivators by subtle and thoughtfnl statesmen, who,
perhaps, for themselves, see nothing in a picture but
colored canvas — nothing in a problem but an ingenious
puzzle. No state is ever more in danger than when the
talent that should be consecrated to peace, has no occupa-
tion but political intrigue or personal advancement.

Z AN ON I. 223

Talent unhonored is talent at war with men. And here
it is noticeable, that the class of Actors having been the
most degraded by the public opinion of the old regime,
their very dust deprived of Christian burial, no men (with
certain exceptions in the company especially favored by
the Court) were more relentless and revengeful among the
scourges of the revolution. In the savage Collot d'ller-
bois, mauvais comedien, were embodied the wrongs and
the vengeance of a class.

Now the energy of Jean Nicot had never been suffi-
ciently directed to the Art he professed. Even in his
earliest youth, the political disquisitions of his master,
David, had distracted him from the more tedious labors
of the easel. The defects of his person had embittered
his mind ; the Atheism of his benefactor had deadened
his conscience. For one great excellence of Religion —
above all, the Religion of the Cross — is, that it raises
Patience first into a Virtue, and next into a Hope.
Take away the doctrine of another life, of requital here-
after, of the smile of a Father upon our sufferings and
trials in our ordeal here, and what becomes of Patience ?
But without patience, what is man ? — and what a people ?
Without patience. Art never can be high ; without pa-
tience, liberty never can be perfected. By wild throes,
and impetuous, aimless struggles, Intellect seeks to soar
from Penury, and a nation to struggle into Freedom. And
woe, thus unfortified, guideless, and unenduring — woe to
both!

Nicot was a villain as a boy. In most criminals, how-

224 Z AN ONI.

ever abandoned, there are touches of humanity — relics of
virtue ; and the true delineator of mankind often incurs
tlie taunt of bad hearts and dull minds, for showin*^ that
even the worst alloy has some particles of gold, and even
the best that come stamped from the mint of Nature, have
some adulteration of the dross. But there are exceptions,
though few, to the general rule ; exceptions, when the
conscience lies utterly dead, and wlien good or bad are
things indifferent but as means to some selfish end. So
was it with the protege of the atheist. Envy and hate
filled up his whole being, and the consciousness of supe-
rior talent only made him curse the more all who passed
him in the sunlight with a fairer form or happier fortunes.
But monster though he was, when his murderous fingers
griped the throat of his benefactor. Time, and that fer-
ment of all evil passions — the Reign of Blood, had made
in the deep hell of his heart a deeper still. Unable to
exercise his calling (for even had he dared to make his
name prominent, revolutions are no season for painters ;
and no man — no ! not the richest and proudest magnate
of the land, has so great an interest in peace and order,
has so high and essential a stake in the well-being of so-
ciety, as the poet and the artist), — his whole intellect,
ever restless and unguided, was left to ponder over the
images of guilt most congenial to it. He had no Future
but in this life ; and how in this life had the men of power
around him, the great wrestlers for dominion, thriven ?
All that was good, pure, unselfish — whether among Roy-
alists or Republicans — swept to the shambles, and the

Z AN ONI. 225

deathsmen left alone in the pomp and purple of their
victims ! Nobler paupers than Jean Nicot would des-
pair ; and Poverty would rise in its ghastly multitudes
to cut the throat of Wealth, and then gash itself limb by
limb, if Patience, the Angel of the Poor, sat not by its
side, pointing with solemn finger to the life to come !
And now as Nicot neared the house of the Dictator, he
began to meditate a reversal of his plans of the previous
day: not that he faltered in his resolution to denounce
Glyndon, and Yiola would necessarily share his fate, as a
companion and accomplice, — no, there he was resolved I
for he hated both — (to say nothing of his old, but never
to be forgotten grudge against Zanoni) — Yiola had
scorned him, Glyndon had served, and the thought of
gratitude was as intolerable to him as the memory of in-
sult. But why, now, should he fly from France? — he
could possess himself of Glyndon's gold — he doubted not
that he could so master Pillide by her wrath and jealousy
that he could command her acquiescence in all he pro-
posed. The papers he had purloined — Desmoulin's cor-
respondence with Glyndon — while it insured the fate of
the latter, might be eminently serviceable to Robespierre,
might induce the tyrant to forget his own old liaisons
with Hebert, and enlist him among the allies and tools
of the King of Terror. Hopes of advancement, of wealth,
of a career, again rose before him. This correspondence,
dated shortly before Camille Desmoulin's death, was writ-
ten with that careless and daring imprudence which char-
acterized the spoiled child of Danton. It spoke openly

p

226

ZA NONI.

of designs against Robespierre ; it named confederates
whom the tyrant desired only a popular pretext to crush.
It was a new instrument of death in the hands of the
Death-compeller. What greater gift could he bestow on
Maximilien the Incorruptible ?

Nursing these thoughts, he arrived at last before the
door of Citizen Dupleix. Around the threshold were
grouped, in admired confusion, some eight or ten sturdy
Jacobins, the voluntary body-guard of Robespierre — tall
fellows, v;ell armed, and insolent with the power that re-
flects power, mingled with women, young and fair, and
gaily dressed, who had come, upon the rumor that Maxi-
milien had had an attack of bile, to inquire tenderly of
his health ; for Robespierre, strange though it seem, was
the idol of the sex !

Through this cortege, stationed without the door, and
reaching up the stairs to the landing-place, for Robes-
pierre's apartments were not spacious enough to afford
sufiicient antechamber iov levees so numerous and miscel-
laneous, Nicot forced his way ; and far from friendly or
flattering were the expressions that regaled his ears.

"Aha, le joli PolicliineUe ! ''^ said a comely matron,
whose robe his obtrusive and angular elbows cruelly dis-
composed. " But how could one expect gallantry from
such a scarecrow ! "

" Citizen, I beg to avise thee* that thou art treading

* The courteous use of the plural was proscribed at Paris. The
Societes populaires had decided that whoever used it should be prose-
cuted as suspect et adulaieur ! At the door of the public administra-

ZANONI. 227

on my feet. I beg thy pardon, but now I look at thine,
I see the hall is not wide enough for them."

'* Ho ! Citizen Nicot," cried a Jacobin, shouldering his
formidable bludgeon, "and what brings thee hither? —
thinkest thou that Hebert's crimes are forgotten already ?
Off, sport of Xature ! and thank the Eire Supreme that
he made thee insignificant enough to be forgiven."

"A pretty face to look out of the National Window," *
said the woman whose robe the painter had rufiied.

" Citizens," said Nicot, white with passion, but con-
straining himself so that his words seemed to come from
grinded teeth, " I have the honor to inform you that I
seek the Reiwesentant upon business of the utmost import-
ance to the public and himself; and," he added, slowly,
and malignantly, glaring round, " I call all good citizens
to be my witnesses when I shall complain to Kobespierre
of the reception bestowed on me by some amongst you."

There was in the man's look and his tone of voice so
much of deep and concentrated malignity, that the idlers
drew back ; and as the remembrance of the sudden ups
and downs of revolutionary life occurred to them, several
voices were lifted to assure the squalid and ragged painter

tions and popular societies was written up — " Ici on s'honore du
Citoyen, et on se lutoye " ! ! !(a) ^Take away Murder from the French
Revolution, and it becomes the greatest Farce ever played before
the Angels!

(a) " Here they respect the title of Citizen, and they ihee and ihou
one another."
* The Guillotine.

228 ZANONI.

that nothing was farther from their thoughts than to offer
affront to a citizen, whose very appearance proved him to
be an exemplary sans-culoUe. Nicot received these apolo-
gies in sullen silence ; and folding his arms, leaned against
the wall, waiting in grim patience for his admission.

The loiterers talked to each other in separate knots of
two and three ; and through the general hum rang the
clear, loud, careless whistle of the tall Jacobin who stood
guard by the stairs. Next to Nicot, an old woman and
a young virgin were muttering in earnest whispers, and
the atheist painter chuckled inly to overhear their dis-
course.

"I assure thee, my dear," said the crone, with a myste-
rious shake of head, " that the divine Catherine Theot,
whom the impious now persecute, is really inspired.
There can be no doubt that the elect, of whom Dom
Gerle and the virtuous Kobespierre are destined to be
the two grand prophets, will enjoy eternal life here, and
exterminate all their enemies. There is no doubt of it — ■
not the least !"

" How delightful ! " said the girl ; " ce clier Robes-
pierre I — he does not look very long-lived either !"

"The greater the miracle," said the old woman. "I
am just eighty-one, and I don't feel a day older since
Catherine Theot promised me I should be one of the
elect ! "

Here the women were jostled aside by some newcomers,
who talked loudly and eagerly.

"■ Yes," cried a brawny man whose garb denoted him

Z AN ONI. 229

to be a butcher, with bare arms, and a cap of liberty on
his head, " I am come to warn Robespierre. They lay a
snare for him ; they offer him the Palais National. On
ne peut etre ami du ijeivple et habiter 2/?ipa/a2s. "*

"No, indeed," answered a coixlonnier ; "I like him
best in his little lodging with the menuisier : it looks like
one of us.''''

Another rush of the crowd, and a new group were
thrown forward in the vicinity of Nicot. And these men
gabbled and chattered faster and louder than the rest.

"But my plan is "

'^Au diable with your^ plan. I tell you my scheme
is "

" Nonsense ! " cried a third. " When Robespierre un-
derstands my new method of making gunpowder, the
enemies of France shall "

"Bah! who fears foreign enemies!" interrupted a
fourth ; "the enemies to be feared are at home. My new
guillotine takes off fifty heads at a time ! "

"But my new Constitution ! " exclaimed a fifth.

"1/?/ new Religion, citizen !" murmured, complacently,
a sixth.

"Sacre miUe tonnerres, silence !" roared forth one of
the Jacobin guard.

And the crowd suddenly parted as a fierce-looking man,
buttoned up to the chin — his sword rattling by his side,

f " No one can be a friend of the people, and dwell in a palace."
— Papiers inedits trouvcs chcz Robespierre, ko, , vol. ii. p. 132,

II.— 20

230 Z AN ONI.

his spurs clinking at his heel — descended the stairs ; his
cheeks swollen and purple with intemperance, his eyes
dead and savage as a vulture's. There was a still pause,
as all, with pale cheeks, made way for the relentless
Henrlot.* Scarce had this gruff and iron minion of the
tyrant stalked through the throng, when a new movement
of respect, and agitation, and fear, swayed the increasing
crowd, as there glided in, with the noiselessness of a
shadow, a smiling, sober citizen, plainly, but neatly, clad,
with a downcast, humble eye. A milder, meeker face, no
pastoral poet could assign to Corydon or Thyrsis — why
did the crowd shrink and hold their breath ? As the ferret^
in a burrow crept that slight form amongst the larger
and rougher creatures that huddled and pressed back on
each other as he passed. A wink of his stealthy eye —
and the huge Jacobins left the passage clear, without
sound or question. On he went, to the apartment of the
tyrant ; and thither will we follow him.

* Or Hanriot. It is singular how undetermined are not only the
characters of the French Revolution, but even the spelling of their
names. With the historians it is Vergniauc? — with the journalists
of the time, it is Vergniauar. With one authority it is Robespierre
— with another, Roberspierre.

ZANONI. 231

CHAPTER VII.

Constitutum est, ut quisquis eum hominem dixisset fuisse, capitfilem
penderct poenam.^ — St. Aug. — Of the God Serapis, 1. 18, de Civ.
Dei, c. 5.

Robespierre was reclining languidly in his fauteuil,
his cadaverous countenance more jaded and fatigued than
usual. He to whom Catherine Theot assured immortal
life, looked, indeed, like a man at death's door. On the
table before him was a dish heaped with oranges, with the
juice of which it is said that he could alone assuage the
acrid bile that overflowed his system ; and an old woman,
richly dressed (she had been a Ilarquise in the old
regime), was employed in peeling the Hesperian fruits for
the sick Dragon, with delicate fingers covered with jewels.
I have before said, that Robespierre was the idol of the
women. Strange, certainly ! — but then they were French
women ! The old Marquise, who, like Catherine Theot,
called him "son," really seemed to love him piously and
disinterestedly as a mother: and as she peeled the oranges,
and heaped on him the most caressing and soothing ex-
pressions, the livid ghost of a smile fluttered about his
meagre lips. At a distance, Payan and Couthon, seated

* It was decreed, that whoso should say that he had been a man
should suffer the punishment of a capital offence.

232 ZANONI.

at another table, were writing rapidly, and occasionally
pausing from their work, to consult with each other in
brief whispers.

Suddenly, one of the Jacobins opened the door, and
approaching Robespierre, whispered to him the name of
Guerin.* At that word the sick man started up, as if
new life were in the sound.

"My kind friend," he said to the 3Iarquise, "forgive
me ; I must dispense with thy tender cares. France
demands me. I am iiever^ill when I can serve my
country ! "

The old Marqidae lifted up her eyes to heaven, and
murmured — " Quel ange I "

Robespierre waved his hand impatiently ; and the old
woman, with a sigh, patted his pale cheek, kissed his
forehead, and submissively withdrew. The next moment,
the smiling, sober man we have before described, stood,
bending low, before the tyrant. And well might Robes-
pierre welcome one of the subtlest agents of his power —
one on whom he relied more than the clubs of his Jaco-
bins, the tongues of his orators, the bayonets of his
armies; Guerin, the most renowned of his ecouteurs —
the searching, prying, universal, omnipresent spy — who
glided like a sunbeam through chink and crevice, and
brought to him intelligence not only of the deeds, but the
hearts of men !

" Well, citizen, well ! — and what of Tallien ? "

* See, for the espionage on which Guerin was employed. Lea
Papiers in^dits, &c., vol. i. p. 3G6. No. xxviii.

ZANONI. 233

'' This morning, early, two minutes after eight, he went
out."

" So early ? hem I"

" He passed Rue des Quatre Fils, Rue du Temple, Rue
de la Reunion, au Marais, Rue Martin ; nothing observa-
ble, except that— — "

''That what?"

" He amused himself at a stall, in bargaining for some
books."

"Bargaining for books! Aha, the Charlatan! — he
would cloak the intriguant under the savant! Well ! "

"At last, in the Rue des Fosses Montmartre, an indi-
vidual, in a blue surtout (unknown), accosted him. They
walked together about the street some minutes, and were
joined by Legendre."

" Legendre ! approach, Payan ! Legendre, thou hear-
est!"

"I went into a fruit-stall, and hired two little girls to
go and play at ball within hearing. They heard Legendre
say, 'I believe his power is wearing itself out.' And
Tallien answered, 'And himself, too. I would not give
three months' purchase for his life.' I do not know,
citizen, if they meant thee ? "

Nor I, citizen," answered Robespierre, with a fell
smile, succeeded by an expression of gloomy thought.
"Ha!" he muttered; "lam young yet — in the prime
of life. I commit no excess. No ; my constitution is
sound — sound. Anything farther of Tallien?"

"Yes. The woman whom he lov3s — Teresa de Fon-
20*

234 ZANONI.

tenai — who lies in prison, still continues to correspond
with him ; to urge hira to save her by thy destruction :
this my listeners overheard. His servant is the messenger
between the prisoner and himself."

" So ! The servant shall be seized in the open streets
of Paris. The Reign of Terror is not over yet. With
the letters found on him, if such their context, I will pluck
Tallien from his benches in the Convention."

Robespierre rose, and after walking a few moments to
and fro the room in thought, opened the door, and sum-
moned one of the Jacobins without. To him he gave his
orders for the watch and arrest of Tallien 's servant ; and
then threw himself again into his chair. As the Jacobin
departed, Guerin whispered —

"Is not that the citizen Aristides?"
" Yes ; a faithful fellow, if he would wash himself, and
not swear so much."

"Didst thou not guillotine his brother?"
"But Aristides denounced him."
" Nevertheless, are such men safe about thy person ? "
"Humph! that is true." And Robespierre, drawing
out his pocket-book, wrote a memorandum in it, replaced
it in his vest, and resumed —
" What else of Tallien ? "

"Nothing more. He and Legendre, with the un-
known, walked to the Jar din EgoMte, and there parted.
I saw Tallien to his house. But I have other news.
Thou badst me watch for those who threaten thee in
secret letters,"

ZANONT. 235

'' Guerin ! Hast thou detected them ? Hast thou —
hast thou "

And the tyrant, as he spoke, opened and shut both his
hands, as if already grasping the lives of the writers, and
one of those convulsive grimaces, that seemed like an
epileptic ali'ection, to which he was subject, distorted his
features.

*' Citizen, I think I have found one. Thou must know,
that, amongst those most disaffected, is the painter,
Nicot."

*' Stay, stay !" said Kobespierre, opening a manuscript
book, bound in red morocco (for Robespierre was neat
and precise, even in his death-lists), and turning to an
alphabetical index — " Nicot ! — I have him — atheist,
sans-culotte (I hate slovens), friend of Hebert ! Aha !
N. B. Rene Dumas knows of his early career and crimes.
Proceed ! "

" This Nicot has been suspected of diffusing tracts and
pamphlets against thyself and the Comite. Yesterday
evening, when he was out, his porter admitted me into his
apartment, Bue Beau- Repair e. With my master-key I
opened his desk and escritoire. I found therein a draw-
ing of thyself, at the guillotine ; and underneath was
written — ^ Bourreau de ton pays, lis Varret de ton
chdtiment/^ ^ I compared the words with the fragments
of the various letters thou gavest me : the handwriting
tallies with one. ''See, I tore off the wTiting."

* Executioner of thy country, read the decree of thy punishment.

236 Z AN ON I.

Robespierre looked, smiled, and, as if his vengeance
were already satisfied, threw himself on his chair. "It is
well ! I feared it was a more powerful enemy. This man
must be arrested at once."

" And he waits below. I brushed by him as I ascended
the stairs."

" Does he so ? — admit ! — nay — hold ! hold ! Guerin,
withdraw into the inner chamber till I summon thee again.
Dear Payan, see that this Nicot conceals no weapons."

Payan, who was as brave as Robespierre was pusillani-
mous, repressed the smile of disdain that quivered on his
lips a moment, and left the room.

Meanwhile, Robespierre, with his head buried in his
bosom, seemed plunged in deep thought. " Life is a
melancholy thing, Couthon I " said he, suddenly.

" Begging your pardon, I think death worse," answered
the philanthropist, gently.

Robespierre made no rejoinder, but took from his porte-
feuille that singular letter which was found afterwards
amongst his papers, and is marked LXI. in the published
collection.*

"Without doubt," it began, "you are uneasy at not
having earlier received news from me. Be not alarmed ;
you know that I ought only to reply by our ordinary
courier ; and as he has been interrupted dans sa derniere
course, that is the cause of my delay. When you receive
this, employ all dih'gence to fly a theatre where you are

* Papiers inddits, &c., vol. ii. p. 156.

ZANONT. 23Y

about to appear and disappear for the last time. It wer^
idle to recall to you all the reasons that expose you to
peril. The last step that should place you sui^ le sopha
de la presinence, but brings you to the scaffold ; and the
mob will spit on your face as it has spat on those whom
you have judged. Since, then, you have accumulated here
a sufficient treasure for existence, I await you with great
impatience, to laugh with you at the part you have played
in the troubles of a nation as credulous as it is avid of
novelties. Take your part according to our arrangements
— all is prepared. I conclude — our courier waits. I ex-
pect your' reply."

Musingly and slowly the Dictator devoured the con-
tents of this epistle. " No," he said to himself — " no ; he
who has tasted power can no longer enjoy repose. Yet,
Danton, Danton ! thou wert right ; better to be a poor
fisherman, than to govern men,"*

The door opened, and Pay an reappeared and whis-
pered Robespierre — "All is safe! See the man."

Tlie Dictator, satisfied, summoned his attendant Jaco-
bin to conduct Nicot to his presence. The painter en-
tered with a fearless expression in his deformed features,
and stood erect before Robespierre, who scanned him with
a sidelong eye.

It is remarkable that most of the principal actors of
the Revolution were singularly hideous in appearance —
from the colossal ugliness of Mirabeau and Danton, or

* 11 vaudrait mieux," said Danton, in his dungeon, " etre un pau-
vre picheur que de gouverner les homines.''^

238 ZANONI.

the villanous ferocity in the countenances of David and
Simon, to the filthy squalor of Marat, the sinister and
bilious meanness of the Dictator's features. But Kobes-
pierre, who was said to resemble a cat, had also a cat's
cleanness ; and his prim and dainty dress, his shaven
smoothness, the womanly whiteness of his lean hands,
made yet more remarkable the disorderly ruffianism that
characterized the attire and mien of the painter-sans-
culotte.

"And so, citizen," said Robespierre, mildly, " thou
wouldst speak with me ? I know thy merits and civism
have been overlooked too long. Thou wouldst ask some
suitable provision in the State ? Scruple not — say on !''

" Virtuous Robespierre, toi qui eclaires Vunivers,'^ I
come not to ask a favor, but to render service to the
State. I have discovered a correspondence that lays open
a conspiracy, of which many of the actors are yet unsus-
pected." And he placed the papers on the table. Robes-
pierre seized, and ran his eye over them rapidly and
eagerly.

"Good — good !" he muttered to himself; — ''this is
all I wanted. Barrere — Legendre ! I have them ! Camille
Desmoulins was but their dupe. I loved him once ; I
never loved them ! Citizen Nicot, I thank thee. I observe
these letters are addressed to an Englishman. What
Frenchman but must distrust these English wolves in
sheep's clothing ! France wants no longer citizens of

* Thou who enlightenest the world.

ZANONI. 239

the world ; that farce ended with Anarcharsis Clootz. I
beg pardon, Citizen Nicot ; but Clootz and Hebert were
thy friends."

" Nay," said Nicot, apologetically, " we are all liable
to be deceived. I ceased to honor them whom thou didst
declare against ; for I disown my own senses rather than
thy justice."

" Yes, I pretend to justice ; that is the virtue I affect,"
said Robespierre, meekly ; and with his feline propensities
he enjoyed, even in that critical hour of vast schemes, of
imminent danger, of meditated revenge, the pleasure of
playing with a solitary victim.* "And my justice shall
no longer be blind to thy services, good Nicot. Thou
knowest this Glyndon ? "

"Yes, well — intimately. He was my friend, but I
would give up my brother if he were one of the ^in-
dulgents.'' I am not ashamed to say, that I have received
favors from this man."

*'Aha ! — and thou dost honestly hold the doctrine that
where a man threatens my life, all personal favors are to
be forgotten ? "

"All ! "

" Good citizen ! — kind Nicot ! — oblige me by writing
the address of this Glyndon."

Nicot stooped to the table ; and, suddenly, when the

* The most detestable anecdote of this peculiar hypocrisy in
Robespierre is that in which he is recorded to have tenderly pressed
the hand of his old school-friend, Camille Dismoulins, the day that
he signed the warrant for his arrest.

240 ZANONI.

pen was in his hand, a thought flashed across him, and he
paused, embarrassed and confused.

" Write on, kind Nicot ! "

The painter slowly obeyed.

"Who are the other familiars of Glyndon?"

" It was on that point I was about to speak to thee,
Bepresentant,^^ said Nicot. *' He visits daily a woman, a
foreigner, who knows all his secrets ; she affects to be poor,
and to support her child by industry. But she is the wife
of an Italian of immense wealth, and there is no doubt that
she has moneys which are spent in corrupting the citizens.
She should be seized and arrested."

"Write down her name also."

" But no time is to be lost ; for I know that both have
a design to escape from Paris this very night."

"Our government is prompt, good Nicot — never fear.
Humph ! — humph ! " and Robespierre took the paper on
which Nicot had written, and stooping over it — for he
was near-sighted — added, smilingly, "Host thou always
write the same hand, citizen ? This seems almost like a
disguised character."

"I should not like them to know who denounced them,
MepresentanV^

" Good ! good ! — Thy virtue shall be rewarded, trust
me. Salut et fraternite f "

Robespierre half rose as he spoke, and Nicot withdrew.

" Ho, there ! — without ! " cried the Dictator, ringing
his bell ; and as the ready Jacobin attended the (summons)
— *' Follow that man, Jean Nicot. The instant he has

ZANONI. 241

cleared the house seize him. At once to the Conciergerie
with him ! Stay ! — nothing against the law ; there is thy
warrant. The public accuser shall have my instruction.
Away ! — quick ! "

The Jacobin vanished. All trace of illness, of infirmity,
had gone from the valetudinarian ; he stood erect on the
floor, his face twitching convulsively, and his arms folded.
"Ho! Guerin ! " (the spy reappeared) — "take these
addresses ! Within an hour this Englishman and this
woman must be in prison ; their revelations will aid me
against worthier foes. They shall die — they shall perish
with the rest on the 10th — the third day from this.
There!" and he wrote hastily — "there, also, is thy
warrant ! _ Off ! "

"And now, Couthon — Payan — we will dally no longer
with Tallien and his crew. I have information that the
Convention will not attend the Fete on the 10th. We
must trust only to the sword of the law. I must compose
my thoughts — prepare my harangue. To-morrow, I
will reappear at the Convention — to-morrow, bold St.
Just joins us, fresh from our victorious armies — to-morrow
from the tribune, I will dart the thunderbolt on the masked
enemies of France — to-morrow, I will demand, in the
face of the country, the heads of the conspirators."

II. — 21 Q

242 Z AN ONI.

CHAPTER YIII.

Le glaive est centre toi tournd de toutes parties.*

La IIaPcPE, Jeanne de Naples, Act iv. sc. 4.

In the mean time, Glyndon, after an audience of some

length with C , in which the final preparations were

arranged, sanguine of safety, and foreseeing no obstacle
to escape, bent his way back to Fillide. Suddenly, in the
midst of his cheerful thoughts, he fancied he heard a voice
too well and too terribly recognized, hissing in his ear,
— "What ! thou wouldst defy and escape me ! thou wouldst
go back to virtue and content. It is in vain — it is too
late. No, I will not haunt thee ; — human footsteps, no
less inexorable, dog thee now. Me thou shalt not see
again till in the dungeon, at midnight, before thy doom I
Behold! "

And Glyndon, mechanically turning his head, saw,
close behind him, the stealthy figure of a man whom he
had observed before, but with little heed, pass and repass

him, as he quitted the house of Citizen C . Instantly

and instinctively he knew that he was watched — that he
was pursued. The street he was in was obscure and
deserted, for the day was oppressively sultry, and it was
the hour when few were abroad, either on business or

* The swonl is raised against you on all gides.

Z A N O N 1 . 243

pleasure. Bold as he was, an icy chill shot through his
heart. He knew too well the tremendous system that then
reigned in Paris, not to be aware of his danger. As the
sight of the first plague-boil to the victim of the pestilence,
was the first sight of the shadowy spy to that of the Revo-
lution— the watch, the arrest, the trial, the guillotine —
these made the regular and rapid steps of the monster that
the anarchists called Law ! He breathed hard, he heard
distinctly the loud beating of his heart. And so he paused,
still and motionless, gazing upon the shadow that halted
also behind him !

Presently, the absence of all allies to the spy, the solitude
of the streets, reanimated his courage ; he made a step
towards his pursuer, who retreated as he advanced.
" Citizen, thou followest me," he said. " Thy business ? "

" Surely," answered the man, with a deprecating smile,
" the streets are broad enough for both ! Thou art not
so bad a republican as to arrogate all Paris to thyself! "

" Go on first, then. I make way for thee."

The man bowed, doffed his hat politely, and passed
forward. The next moment Glyndon plunged into a
winding lane, and fled fast through a labyrinth of streets,
passages, and alleys. By degrees, he composed himself,
and, looking behind, imagined that he had baffled the
pursuer ; he then, by a circuitous route, bent his way once
more to his home. As he emerged into one of the broader
streets, a passenger, wrapped in a mantle, brushing so
quickly by him that he did not observe his countenance,
whispered — " Clarence Glyndon, you are dogged — follow

244 ZxVNONi.

me ! " and the stranger walked quickly before him. Clar-
ence turned, and sickened once more to see at his heels,
with the same servile smile on his face, the pursuer he
fancied he had escaped. He forgot the injunction of the
stranger to follow him, and perceiving a crowd gathered
close at hand, round a caricature-shop, dived amidst them,
and, gaining another street, altered the direction he had
before taken, and, after a long and breathless course,
gained, without once more seeing the spy, a distant quartUr
of the city. Here, indeed, all seemed so serene and fair,
that his artist eye, even in that imminent hour, rested with
pleasure on the scene. It was a comparatively broad
space, formed by one of the nobler quays. The Seine
flowed majestically along, with boats and craft resting on
its surface. The sun gilt a thousand spires and domes,
and gleamed on the white palaces of a fallen chivalry.
Here, fatigued and panting, he paused an instant, and a
cooler air from the river fanned his brow. "Awhile, at
least I am safe here," he murmured ; and as he spoke, some
thirty paces behind him, he beheld the spy. He stood
rooted to the spot ; wearied and spent as he was, escape
seemed no longer possible — the river on one side (no
bridge at hand), and the long row of mansions closing up
the other. As he halted, he heard laughter and obscene
songs, from a house a little in his rear, between himself
and the spy. It was a cafe fearfully known in that quarter.
Hither often resorted the black troop of Henriot — the
minions and huissiers of Robespierre. The spy, then, had
hunted the victim within the jaws of the hounds. The

ZANONI. 245

man slowly advanced, and pausing before the open window
of the cafe, put his head through the aperture, as to address
and summon forth its armed inmates.

At that very instant, and while the spy's head was thus
turned from him, standing in the half-open gateway of the
house immediately before him, he perceived the stranger
who had warned ; the figure, scarcely distinguishable
through the mantle that wrapped it, motioned to him to^
enter. He sprang noiselessly through the friendly open-
ing ; the door closed ; breathlessly he followed the stranger
up a flight of broad stairs, and through a suite of empty
rooms, until, having gained a small cabinet, his conductor
doffed the large hat and the long mantle that had hitherto
concealed his shape and features, and Glyndo'n beheld
Zanoni !

CHAPTER IX.

Think not my magic wonders wrought by aid

Of Stygian angels summoned up from hell ;

Scorn'd and accursed be those who have essay'd,

Her gloomy Dives and Afrites to compel.

But by perception of the secret powers

Of mineral springs, in nature's inmost cell,

Of herbs in curtain of her greenest bowers,

And of the moving stars o'er mountain tops and towers,

Wiffen's Translation of Tasso, cant. xiv. xliii.

" You are safe here, young Englishman ! " said Zanoni,

motioning Glyndon to a seat. " Fortunate for you that

I come on your track at last!"
21*

246 ZANONI.

"Far happier had it been if we had never met ! Yet,
even in these last hours of my fate, I rejoice to look once
more on the face of that ominous and mysterious being
to whom I can ascribe all the sufferings I have known.
Here, then, thou shalt not palter with or elude me. Here,
before we part, thou shalt unravel to me the dark enigma,
if not of thy life, of my own ! "

" Hast thou suffered ? Poor Neophyte ! " said Zanoni,
pityingly. " Yes — I see it on thy brow. But wherefore
wouldst thou blame me ? Did I not warn thee against the
whispers of thy spirit ? — did I not warn thee to forbear ?
Did I not tell thee that the ordeal was one of awful hazard
and tremendous fears ? — nay, did I not offer to resign to
thee the heart that was mighty enough, while mine, Glyn-
don, to content me ? Was it not thine own daring and
resolute choice to brave the initiation ? Of thine own
free will didst thou make Mejnour thy master, and his
lore thy study ! "

" But whence came the irresistible desires of that wild
and unholy knowledge ? I knew them not till thine evil
eye fell upon me, and I was drawn into the magic atmo-
sphere of thy being ! "

" Thou errest ! — the desires were in thee ; and, whether
in one direction or the other, would have forced their
way ! Man ! thou askest me the enigma, of thy fate and
my own ! Look round all being, is there not mystery
everywhere ? Can thine eye trace the ripening of the
grain beneath the earth ? In the moral and the physical

ZANONI. - 247

world alike, lie dark portents, far more wondrous than the
powers thou wouldst ascribe to me ! "

''Dost thou disown those powers ? — dost thou confess
thyself an impostor ? — or wilt thou dare to tell me that
thou art indeed sold to the Evil One? — a magician,
whose familiar has haunted me night and day ! "

"It matters not what I am," returned Zanoni ; "it
matters only whether I can aid thee to exorcise thy dis-
mal phantom, and return once more to the wholesome air
of this common life. Something, however, will I tell thee,
not to vindicate myself, but the Heaven and the Nature
that thy doubts malign."

Zanoni paused a moment, and resumed, with a slight
smile

" In thy younger days thou hast doubtless read with
delight the great Christian poet, whose muse, like the
morning it celebrated, came to earth 'crowned with
flowers culled in Paradise.'* No spirit was more imbued
with the knightly superstitions of the time ; and surely
the Poet of Jerusalem hath sufficiently, to satisfy even the
Inquisitor he consulted, execrated all the practitioners of
the unlawful spells invoked, —

'Per isforzar Cocito o Flegetonte.'f

But in his sorrows and his wrongs — in the prison of
his madhouse, know you not that Tasso himself found his

* I'aurea testa

Di rose colte in Paradise infiora.

Tasso, Ger. Lib, iv. 1.
f To constrain Cocytus or Phlegethon.

248 Z AN ON I.

solace, his escape, in the recognition of a holy and spir-
itual Thenrgia — of a magic that could summon the Angel,
or the Good Genius, not the Fiend ? And do you not
remember how he, deeply versed as he was, for his age,
in the mysteries of the nobler Platonism, which hints at
the secrets of all the starry brotherhoods, from the Chal-
deean to the later Rosicrucian, discriminates in his lovely
verse, between the black art of Israeno and the glorious
lore of the Enchanter who counsels and guides upon their
errand the Champions of the Holy Land ? His, not the
charms wrought by the aid of the Stygian Kebcls ; * but
the perception of the secret powers of the fountain and
the herb — the Arcana of the unknown nature and the
various motions of the stars. His, the holy haunts of
Lebanon and Carmel — beneath his feet he saw the clouds
the snows, the hues of Iris, the generations of the rains
and dews. Did the Christian Hermit who converted that
Enchanter (no fabulous being, but the type of all spirit
that would aspire through Nature up to God), command
him to lay aside these sublime studies, ' Le solite arte e P
uso mio ? ' No ! but to cherish and direct them to worthy
ends. And in this grand conception of the poet lies the
secret of the true Thenrgia, which startles your ignorance
in a more learned day with puerile apprehensions, and
the nightmares of a sick man's dreams."

* See this remarkable passage, which does indeed not unfaithfully
represent the doctrine of the Pythagorean and the Platonist, in
Tasso, cant. xiv. stanzas xh. to xlvii. (Ger, Lib.) They are beau-
tifully translated by Wiffen.

ZANONI. 249

Again Zanoni paused, and again resumed : —
"In ages far remote — of a civilization far different
from that which now merges the individual in the state,
there existed men of ardent minds, and an intense desire
of knowledge. In the mighty and solemn kingdoms in
which they dwelt, there were no turbulent and earthly
channels to work off the fever of their minds. Set in
the antique mould of castes through which no intellect
could pierce, no valor could force its way, the thirst for
wisdom, alone, reigned in the hearts of those who received
its study as a heritage from sire to son. Hence, even in
your imperfect records of the progress of human knowledge
you find that, in the earliest ages, Philosophy descended
not to the business and homes of men. It dwelt amidst
the wonders of the loftier creation ; it sought to analyze
the formation of matter — the essentials of the prevailing
soul ; to read the mysteries of the starry orbs ; to dive
into those depths of Nature in which Zoroaster is said by
the schoolmen first to have discovered the arts which your
ignorance classes under the name of magic. In such an
age, then, arose some men, who, amidst the vanities and
delusions of their class, imagined that they detected gleams
of a brighter and steadier lore. They fancied an affinity
existing among all the works of Nature, and that in the
lowliest lay the secret attraction that might conduct them
upward to the loftiest.* Centuries passed, and lives were

* Agreeably, it would seem, to the notion of lamblichus and
Plotinus, that the universe is as an animal ; so that there is sym-
pathy and communication between one part and the other; in the

250 ZANONT.

wasted in these discoveries ; but step after step was chron-
icled and marked, and became the guide to the few who
alone had the hereditary privilege to track their path.
At last from this dimness upon some eyes the light broke ;
but think not, young visionary, that to those who nursed
unholy thoughts, over whom the Origin of Evil held a
sway, that dawning was vouchsafed. It could be given
then, as now, only to the purest ecstasies of imagination
and intellect, undistracted by the cares of a vulgar life,
or the appetites of the common clay. Far from descend-
ing to the assistance of a fiend, theirs was but the august
ambition to approach nearer to the Fount of Good ; the
more they emancipated themselves from this limbo, of the
planets, the more they were penetrated by the splendor
and beneficence of God. And if they sought, and at last
discovered, how to the eye of the Spirit all the subtler
modifications of being and of matter might be made
apparent ; if they discovered how, for the wings of the
Spirit, all space might be annihilated ; and while the body
stood heavy and solid here, as a deserted tomb, the freed
IdeOj might wander from star to star ; — if such discoveries
became in truth their own, the sublimest luxury of their
knowledge was but this — to wonder, to venerate, and
adore ! For, as one not unlearned in these high matters

emallest part may be the subtlest nerve. And hence the universal
magnetism of Nature. But man contemplates the universe as an
animalcule would an elephant. The animalcule, seeing scarcely
the tip of the hoof, would be incapable of comprehending that the
tiunk belonged to the same creature — that the effect produced
upon one extremity would be felt in an instant by the other.

Z AN ONI. 251

has expressed it, ' There is a principle of the soul superior
to all external nature, and through this principle we are
capable of surpassing the order and systems of the world,
and participating the immortal life and the energy of the
Sublime Celestials. When the soul is elevated to natures
above itself, it deserts the order to which it is awhile
compelled, and b}^ a religious magnetism is attracted to
another, and a loftier, with which it blends and mingles.'*
Grant, then, that such beings found at last the secret to
arrest death — to fascinate danger and the foe — to walk
the revolutions of the earth unharmed ; think you that
this life could teach them other desire than to yearn the
more for the Immortal, and to fit their intellect the better
for the higher being to which they might, when Time and
Death exist no longer, be transferred ? Away with your
gloomy phantasies of sorcerer and daemon ! — the soul can
aspire only to the light ; and even the error of our lofty
knowledge was but the forgetfulness of the weakness, the
passions, and the bonds, which the death we so vainly
conquered only can purge away ! "

This address was so different from what Glyndon had
anticipated, that he remained for some moments speech-
less, and at length faltered out —

"But why, then, to me "

"Why," added Zanoni, "why to thee have been only
the penance and the terror — the Threshold and the Phan-
tom ? Yain man ! look to the commonest elements of

* From lamblich. on the Mysteries, c. 7, sect. 7.

252 ZANONI.

the common learning. Can every tyro at his mere wish
and will become the master ? — can the student, when he
has bought his Euclid, become a Newton? — can the
youth whom the Muses haunt, say, ' I will equal Homer ? '
— yea, can yon pale tyrant, with all the parchment-laws
of a hundred system-shapers, and the pikes of his daunt-
less multitude, carve, at his will, a constitution not more
vicious than the one which the madness of a m-ob could
overthrow ? When, in that far time to which I have
referred, the student aspired to the heights to which thou
wouldst have sprung at a single bound, he was trained
from his very cradle to the career he was to run. The
internal and the outward nature were made clear to his
eyes, year after year, as they opened on the day. He
was not admitted to the practical initiation till not one
earthly wish chained that sublimest faculty which you call
the Imagination, one carnal desire clouded the penetra-
tive essence that you call the Intellect. And even then,
and at the best, how few attained to the last mystery !
Happier inasmuch as they attained the earlier to the holy
glories for which Death is the heavenliest gate."

Zanoni paused, and a shade of thought and sorrow
darkened his celestial beauty.

"And are there, indeed, others, besides thee and Mej-
cour, who lay claim to thine attributes, and have attained
to thy secrets ? "

" Others there have been before us, but we two now
are alone on earth."

Z A N 0 N 1 . 253

"Impostor! thou betrayest thyself! If they could
conquer Death, why live they not yet ? " *

" Child of a day ! " answered Zanoni, mournfully, " have
I not told thee the error of our knowledge was the for-
getfulness of the desires and passions which the spirit
never can wholly and permanently conquer, while this
matter cloaks it ? Canst thou think that it is no sorrow,
either to reject all human ties, all friendship, and all love,
or to see, day after day, friendship and love wither from
our life, as blossoms from the stem ? Canst thou wonder
how, with the power to live while the world shall last, ere
even our ordinary date be finished we yet may prefer to
die ? Wonder rather that there are two who have clung
so faithfully to earth ! Me, I confess, that earth can
enaraor yet. Attaining to the last secret while youth
was in its bloom, youth still colors all around me with its
own luxuriant beauty ; to me, yet, to breathe is to enjoy.
The freshness has not faded from the face of Nature, and
not a herb in which I cannot discover a new charm — an
undetected wonder. As with my youth, ^ with Mejnour's
age ; he will tell you, that life to him is but a power to
examine ; and not till he has exhausted all the marvels
which the Creator has sown on earth, would he desire new
habitations for the renewed Spirit to explore. We are
the types of the two essences of what is imperishable —
'Art, that enjoys, and Science, that contemplates ! ' And
now, that thou mayest be contented that the secrets are

■^ Glyndon appears to forget that Mejnour had before answered
the very question which his doubts, here, a second time suggest.

II. — 22

25 4 Z A N 0 N I .

not vouchsafed to thee, learn that so utterly must the
idea detach itself from what makes up the occupation and
excitement of men, so must it be void of whatever would
covet, or love, or hate ; that for the ambitious man, for
the lover, the hater, the power avails not. And I, at last,
bound and blinded by the most common of household ties
— I, darkened and helpless, adjure thee, the baffled and
discontented — I adjure thee to direct, to guide me; —
where are they — Oh, tell me — speak I My wife — my
child? Silent! — oh, thou knowest now that I am no
sorcerer, no enemy. I cannot give thee what thy faculties
deny — I cannot achieve what the passionless Mejnour
failed to accomplish ; but I can give thee the next best
boon, perhaps the fairest — T can reconcile thee to the
daily world, and place peace between thy conscience and
thyself."

" Wilt thou promise ? "

" By their sweet lives, I promise ! "

Glyndon looked and believed. He whispered the
address to the house whither his fatal step already had
brought woe and doom.

"Bless thee for this," exclaimed Zanoni, passionately,
"and thou shalt be blessed! What! couldst thou not
perceive that at the entrance to all the grander worlds
dwell the race that intimidate and awe ? Who in thy
daily world ever left the old regions of Custom and Pre-
scription, and felt not the first seizure of the shapeless
and nameless Fear ? Everywhere around thee where men
aspire and labor, though they see it not — in the closet

Z A N 0 N 1 . 255

of the sage, in the council of the demagogue, in the camp
of the warrior, — everywhere cowers and darkens the
Unutterable Horror. But there, where thou hast ventured,
alone is the Phantom visible ; and never will it cease to
haunt, till thou canst pass to the Infinite, as the seraph,
or return to the Familiar, as a child ! But answer me
this, — When, seeking to adhere to some calm resolve of
virtue, the Phantom hath stalked suddenly to thy side ;
when its voice hath whispered thee despair ; when its
ghastly eyes would scare thee back to those scenes of
earthly craft or riotous excitement, from which, as it leaves
thee to worse foes to the soul, its presence is ever absent,
hast thou never bravely resisted the spectre and thine own
horror? — hast thou never said, 'Come what may, to
Yirtue I will cling ? ' "

"Alas ! " answered Glyndon, " only of late have I dared
to do so."

"And thou hast felt then that the Phantom grew more
dim and its power more faint."

"It is true."

"Rejoice, then ! — thou hast overcome the true terror
and mystery of the ordeal. Resolve is the first success.
Rejoice, for the exorcism is sure ! Thou art not of those
who, denying a life to come, are the victims of the Inex-
orable Horror. Oh, when shall men learn, at last, that
if the Great Religion inculcates so rigidly the necessity
of FAITH, it is not alone that faith leads to the world to
be ; but that without faith there is no excellence in this
— faith is something wiser, happier, diviner, than we see

256 Z ANON I.

on earth! — the Artist calls it the Ideal — the Priest
Faith. The Ideal and Faith are one and the same.
Return, 0 wanderer ! return. Feel what beauty and
holiness dwell in the Customary and the Old. Back to
thy gateway glide, thou Horror ! and calm, on the child-
like heart, smile again, 0 azure Heaven, with thy night
and thy morning star but as one, though under its double
name of Memory and Hope ! "

As he thus spoke, Zanoni laid his hand gently on the
burning temples of his excited and wondering listener ;
and presently a sort of trance came over him : he imagined
that he was returned to the home of his infancy ; that he
was in the small chamber where, over his early slumbers,
his mother liad watched and prayed. There it was —
visible, palpable, solitary, unaltered. In the recess, the
homely bed ; on the walls, the shelves filled with holy
books ; the very easel on which he had first sought to
call the ideal to the canvas, dust-covered, broken, in the
corner. Below the window lay the old church-yard ; he
saw it green in the distance, the sun glancing tlirough the
yew-trees ; he saw the tomb where father and mother lay
united, and the spire pointing up to Heaven, the symbol
of the hopes of those who consigned the ashes to the
dust; in his ear rang the bells, pealing, as on a sabbath
day ; far fled all the visions of anxiety and awe that had
haunted and convulsed ; youth, boyhood, childhood, came
back to him with innocent desires and hopes ; he thought
he fell upon his knees to pray. He woke — he woke in
delicious tears ; he felt that the Phantom was fled for ever.

ZANONT. 25t

He looked round — Zanoni was gone. On tli ■ table lay
these lines, the ink yet wet —

*' I will find ways and means for thy escape. At night-
fall, as the clock strikes nine, a boat shall wait thee on
the river before this house : the boatman will guide thee
to a retreat where thou mayst rest in safety, till the Reign
of Terror, which nears its close, be past. Think no more
of the sensual love that lured, and well-nigh lost, thee.
It betrayed, and would have destroyed. Thou wilt regain
thy land in safety — long years yet spared to thee to muse
over the past, and to redeem it. For thy future, be thy
dream thy guide, and thy tears thy baptism."

The Englishman obeyed the injunctions of the letter,
and found their truth.

CHAPTER X.

Quid mirare meas tot in uno corpore forraas ? *

Propert.
ZANONI TO MEINOUR.

'^ 'T' 't^ ^f^ *lC iJC

"She is in one of their prisons — their inexorable
prisons. It is Robespierre's order — I have tracked the
cause to Glyndon. This, then, made that terrible con-
nection betv/een their fates which I could not unravel, but
w^hich (till severed as it now is) wrapped Glyndon himself
in the same cloud that concealed her. In prison — in

* Why wonder that 1 have so many forms in a single body ?
22* R

258 ZANONI.

prison ! — it is the gate of the grave ! Her trial, and the
inevitable execution that follows such trial, is the third
day from this. The tyrant has fixed all his schemes of
slaughter for the 10th of Thermidor. While the deaths
of the unoffending strike awe to the city, his satellites are
to massacre his foes. There is but one hope left — that
the Power which now dooms the doomer may render me
an instrument to expedite his fall. But two days left —
two days ! In all my wealth of time I see but two days ;
all beyond — darkness — solitude. I may save her yet.
The tyrant shall fall the day before that which he has set
apart for slaughter ! For the first time I mix among the
broils and stratagems of men, and my mind leaps up from
my despair, armed and eager for the contest."

A crowd had gathered round the Rue St. Honore — a
young man was just arrested by the order of Robespierre.
He was known to be in the service of Tallien, that hostile
leader in the Convention, whom the tyrant had hitherto
trembled to attack. This incident had therefore produced
a greater excitement than a circumstance so customary as
an arrest in the Reign of Terror might be supposed to
create. Amongst the crowd were many friends of Tallien,
many foes to the tyrant, many weary of beholding the
tiger dragging victim after victim to its den. Hoarse,
foreboding murmurs were heard ; fierce eyes glared upon
the officers as they seized their prisoner; and though they
did not yet dare openly to resist, those in the rear pressed
on those behind, and encumbered the path of the captive

Z AN ON I. 259

and his captors. The young man struggled hard for
escape, and, by a violent effort, at last wrenched himself
from the grasp. The crowd made way, and closed round
to protect him, as he dived and darted through their
ranks ; but suddenly the trampling of horses was heard
at hand — the savage Henriot and his troop were bearing
down upon the mob. The crowd gave way in alarm, and
the prisoner was again seized by one of the partisans of
the Dictator. At that moment a voice whispered the
prisoner — "Thou hast a letter, which, if found on thee,
ruins thy last hope. Give it to me ! I will bear it to
Tallien." The prisoner, turning in amaze, read something
that encouraged him in the eyes of the stranger who thus
accosted him; the troop were now on the spot; the
Jacobin who had seized the prisoner released hold of him
for a moment, to escape the hoofs of the horses — in that
moment the opportunity was found — the stranger had
disappeared.

******
At the house of Tallien the principal foes of the tyrant
were assembled. Common danger made common fellow-
ship. All factions laid aside their feuds for the hour, to
unite against the formidable man who was marching over
all factions to his gory throne. There, was bold Lecointre,
the declared enemy — there, creeping Barrere, who would
reconcile all extremes, the hero of the cowards ; Barras,
calm and collected — Collotd'Herbois, breathing wrath and
vengeance, and seeing not that the crimes of Robespierre
alone sheltered his own.

260 Z A NO NT.

The council was agitated and irresolute. The awe
which the uniform success and the prodigious energy of
Robespierre excited still held the greater part under its
control. Tallien, whom the tyrant most feared, and who
alone could give head and substance and direction to so
many contradictory passions, was too sullied by the
memory of his own cruelties, not to feel embarrassed by
his position as the champion of mercy. "It is true," he
said, after an animating harangue from Lecointre, "that
the Usurper menaces us all. But he is still so beloved by
his mobs — still so supported by his Jacobins — better delay
open hostilities till the hour is more ripe. To attempt and
not succeed is to give us, bound hand and foot, to the
guillotine. Every day his power must decline. Procrasti-
nation is our best ally " While yet speaking, and

while yet producing the effect of water on the fire, it was
announced that a stranger demanded to see him instantly
on business that brooked no delay.

"I am not at leisure," said the orator, impatiently.
The servant placed a note on the table. Tallien opened
it, and found these words in pencil, " From the prison of
Teresa de Fontenai." He turned pale, started up, and
hastened to the ante-room, where he beheld a face entirely
strange to him.

" Hope of France ! " said the visitor to him, and the
very sound of his voice went straight to the heart — "your
servant is arrested in the streets. I have saved your life,
and that of your wife who will be. I bring to you this
letter from Teresa de Fontenai."

ZANONI. 261

Tallien, with a trembling hand, opened the letter, and
read — ^'Am I for ever to implore you in vain ? Again
and again I say — Lose not an hour, if you value my life
and your own. My trial and death are fixed the third
day from this — the 10th Thermidor. Strike while it is
yet time — strike the monster I — you have two days yet.
If you fail — if you procrastinate — see me for the last
time as I pass your windows to the guillotine ! "

"Her trial will give proof against you," said the
stranger. '' Her death is the herald of your own. Fear
not the populace — the populace would have rescued your
servant. Fear not Robespierre — he gives himself to your
hands. To-morrow he comes to the Convention — to-
morrow you must cast the last throw for his head or your
own."

" To-morrow he comes to the Convention ! And who
are you, that know so well what is concealed from me ?"

"A man, like you, who would save the woman he loves."

Before Tallien could recover his surprise, the visitor
was gone.

Back went the Avenger to his conclave, an altered man.
"I have heard tidings — no matter what," he cried, "that
have changed my purpose. On the 10th we are destined
to the guillotine. I revoke my counsel for delay. Robes-
pierre comes to the Convention to-morrow; they^e we must
confront and crush him. From the Mountain shall frown
against him the grim shade of Danton — from the Plain
shall rise, in their bloody cerements, the spectres of
Yergniaud and Condorcet. Frappons!^^

262 Z AN ON I.

^^ Frappons ! ^^ cried even Barrere, startled into energy
by the new daring of his colleague. ^^ Frappons ! it nhj
a que les morts qui ne reviennent pas.''''

It was observable (and the fact may be found in one
of the memoirs of the time) that, during that day and
night (the Yth Thermidor), a stranger to all the previous
events of that stormy time was seen in various parts of
the city — in the cafes, the clubs, the haunts of the various
factions — that, to the astonishment and dismay of his
hearers, he talked aloud of the crimes of Robespierre,
and predicted his coming fall ; and, as he spoke, he stirred
up the hearts of men, he loosed the bonds of their fear,
he inflamed them with unwonted rage and daring. But
what surprised them most was, that no voice replied —
no hand was lifted against him — no minion, even of the
tyrant, cried, ''Arrest the Traitor ! " In that impunity
men read, as in a book, that the populace had deserted
the man of blood.

Once only a fierce, brawny Jacobin sprung up from
the table at which he sat, drinking deep, and, approach-
ing the stranger, said, " I seize thee, in the name of the
Republic."

'' Citizen Aristides," answered the stranger, in a whis-
per, ''go to the lodgings of Robespierre ; he is from home,
and in the left pocket of the vest, which he cast off not
an hour since, thou wilt find a paper ; when thou hast
read that, return. I will await thee : and if thou wouldst
then seize me, I will go without a struggle. Look round

ZANONI. 263

on these lowering brows : touch me now, and thou wilt be
torn to pieces,"

The Jacobin felt as if compelled to obey against his
will. He went forth muttering; he returned; the stranger
was still there. " Mille tonnerres," he said to him — "I
thank thee ; the poltroon had my name in his list for the
guillotine."

With that the Jacobin Aristides sprung upon the table,
and shouted, " Death to the Tyrant ! "

CHAPTER XI.

Le lendemain, 8 Thermidor, Robespierre se decida a prononcer son
fameux discours.* — Thikus, Hist, de la Revoluimi.

The morning rose — the 8th of Thermidor (July 26).
Robespierre has gone to the Convention. He has gone,
with his labored speech ; he has gone, with his phrases
of philanthropy and virtue ; he has gone to single out
his prey. All his agents are prepared for his reception ;
the fierce St. Just has arrived from the armies, to second
his courage and inflame his wrath. His ominous appa-
rition prepares the audience for the crisis. " Citizens ! "
screeched the shrill voice of Robespierre — "others have

■^ The next day, 8 Thermidor, Robespierre resolved to deliver his
celebrated discourse.

264 ZANONI.

placed before you flattering pictures ; I come to announce
to you useful truths.

******
And they attribute to me, to me alone ! — whatever of
harsh or evil is committed ; it is Robespierre who wishes
it ; it is Robespierre who ordains it. Is there a new tax?
. — it is Robespierre who ruins you. They call me tyrant I
— and why ? Because I have acquired some influence ;
but how? — in speaking truth; and who pretends that
truth is to be without force in the mouths of the Repre-
resentatives of the French people ? Doubtless, truth has
-its power, its rage, its despotism, its accents, touching —
terrible, which resound in the pure heart, as in the guilty
conscience ; and which Falsehood can no more imitate
than Salmoneus could forge the thunderbolts of Heaven.
What am I, whom they accuse ? A slave of liberty — a
living martyr of the Republic — the victim, as the enemy
of crime ! All ruffianism afi'ronts me ; and actions legiti-
mate in others are crimes in me. It is enough to know
me to be calumniated. It is in my very zeal that they
discover my guilt. Take from me my conscience, and I
should be the most miserable of men ! "

He paused ; and Couthon wiped his eyes, and St. Just
murmured applause, as with stern looks he gazed on the
rebellious Mountain ; and there was a dead, mournful,
and chilling silence through the audience. The touching
sentiment woke no echo.

The orator cast his eyes around. Ho ! he will soon
arouse that apathy. He proceeds ; he praises, he pities

Z A N 0 N 1 . 265

himself, no more. He denounces — he accuses. Over-
flooded with his venom, he vomits it forth on all. At
home, abroad, finances, war — on all ! Shriller and sharper
rose his voice —

''A conspiracy exists against the Public Liberty. It
ow^es its strength to a criminal coalition in the very bosom
of the Convention ; it has accomplices in the bosom of

the Committee of Public Safety What is the

remedy to this evil ? To punish the traitors ; to purify
this committee ; to crush all factions by the weight of
the National Authority ; to raise upon their ruins the
power of Liberty and Justice. Such are the principles
of that Reform. Must I be ambitious to profess them ?
— then the principles are proscribed, and Tyranny reigns
amongst us ! For what can you object to a man who is
in the right, and has at least this knowledge — he knows
how to die for his native land ! I am made to combat
crime, and not to govern it. The time, alas ! is not yet
arrived when men of worth can serve with impunity their
country. So long as the knaves rule, the defenders of
liberty will be only the proscribed."

For two hours, through that cold and gloomy audience
shrilled the Death-speech. In silence it began, in silence
closed. The enemies of the orator were afraid to express
resentment : they knew not yet the exact balance of power.
His partisans were afraid to approve ; they knew not
whom of their own friends and relations the accusations
were designed to single forth. "Take care !" whispered
each to each, 'Mt is thou v/hom he threatens." But silent

IL— 23

266 Z AN ONI.

though the audience, it was, at the first, well-nigh sub-
dued. There was still about this terrible man the spell
of an over-mastering will. Always — though not what
is called a great orator — resolute, and sovereign in the
use of words, words seemed as things when uttered by
one who with a nod moved the troops of Henriot, and
influenced the judgment of Rene Dumas, grim President
of the Tribunal. Lecointre of Yersailles rose, and there
was an anxious movement of attention ; for Lecointre was
one of the fiercest foes of the tyrant. What was the dis-
may of the Tallien faction — what the complacent smile
of Couthon, when Lecointre demanded only that the
oration should be printed ! All seemed paralyzed. At
length Bourdon de I'Oise, whose name was doubly marked
in the black list of the Dictator, stalked to the tribune,
and moved the bold counter-resolution, that the speech
should be referred to the two committees whom that verv
speech accused. Still no applause from the conspirators,
they sat torpid as frozen men. The shrinking Barrere,
ever on the prudent side, looked round before he rose.
He rises, and sides with Lecointre ! Then Couthon seized
the occasion, and from his seat (a privilege permitted
alone to the paralytic philanthropist),* and with his
melodious voice sought to convert the crisis into a triumph.
He demanded, not only that the harangue should be

* M. Thiers, in his History, vol. iv. p. 79, makes a curious
bhinder: he says, "Couthon s'clance h la tribune." (Couthon
darted towards the tribune.) Poor Couthon ! whose half body Avas
dead, and who was always wheeled in his chair into the Conven-
tion, and spoke sitting.

ZANONI. 26t

printed, but sent to all the communes and all the armies.
It was necessary to soothe a wronged and ulcerated heart.
Deputies, the most faithful, had been accused of shedding
blood. "Ah ! if he had contributed to the death of one
innocent man, he should immolate himself wdth grief."
Beautiful tenderness ! — and while he spoke, he fondled
the spaniel in his bosom. Bravo, Couthon ! Robespierre
triumphs ! The Reign of Terror shall endure ! — The old
submission settles dove-hke back in the assembly ! They
vote the printing of the Death-speech, and its transmission
to all the municipalities. From the benches of the Moun-
tain, Tallien, alarmed, dismayed, impatient, and indignant,
cast his gaze where sat the strangers admitted to hear
the debates. And, suddenly, he met the eyes of the Un-
known who had brought to him the letter from Teresa de
Fontenai, the preceding day. The eyes fascinated him
as he gazed. In after-times, he often said, that their
regard, fixed, earnest, half-reproachful, and yet cheering
and triumphant, filled him with new life and courage.
They spoke to his heart as the trumpet speaks to the war-
horse. He moved from his seat ; he whispered with his
allies : the spirit he had drawn in was contagious : the
men whom Robespierre especially had denounced, and
who saw the sword over their heads, woke from their
torpid trance. Yadier, Cambon, Billaud-Yarennes, Panis,
Amar, rose at once — all at once demanded speech.
Vadier is first heard, the rest succeed. It burst forth,
the Mountain, with its fires and consuming lava ! flood
upon flood they rush, a legion of Ciceros upon the startled

268 ZANONT.

Catiline I Robespierre falters — hesitates — would qualify^
retract. They gather new courage foom his new fears ;
they interrupt him ; they drown his voice ; they demand
the reversal of the motion, Amar moves again that the
speech be referred to the Committees — to the Commitees
— to his enemies! Confusion, and noise, and clamor!
Kobespierre wraps himself in silent and superb disdain.
Pale, defeated, but not yet destroyed, he stands, a storm
in the midst of storm !

The motion is carried. All pien foresee in that defeat
the Dictator's downfall. A solitary cry rose from the
galleries ; it was caught up ; it circled through the hall —
the audience : "A bas le tyrant! Vive la Repuhlique ! ^^"^

CHAPTER XII.

Aupres d'un corps aussi avili que la Convention il restait des chances
pour que Robespierre sortit vainqueur de cette lutte.f — Lacre-
TELLE, vol. xii.

As Robespierre left the hall, tnere was a dead and
ominous silence in the crowd without. The herd, in every
country, side with success ; and the rats run from the fall-
ing tower. But Robespierre, who wanted courage, never
wanted pride, and the last often supplied the place of the

* Down with the tyrant ! Hurrah for the republic !

f Amongst a body so debased as the Convention, there still re-
mained some chances that Robespierre would come off victor in tho
struggle.

Z AN ON I. 269

first : thoughtfully, and with an impenetrable brow, he
passed through the throng, leaning on St. Just, Payan
and his brother following him.

As they got into the open space, Robespierre abruptly
broke the silence.

" How many heads were to fall upon the tenth ? "

"Eighty," replied Payan.

"Ah, we must not tarry so long; a day may lose an
empire ! terrorism must serve us yet ! "

He was silent a few moments, and his eyes roved sus-
piciously through the street.

" St. Just," he said, abruptly, "they have not found this
Englishman, whose revelations, or whose trial, would have
crushed the Amars and the Talliens. No, no ! my Jaco-
bins themselves are growing dull and blind. But they
have seized a woman — only a woman!"

"A woman's hand stabbed Marat," said St. Just. Ro-
bespierre stopped short, and breathed hard.

" St. Just," said he, " when this peril is past, we will
found the Reign of Peace. There shall be homes and
gardens set apart for the old. David is already designing
the porticos. Yirtuous men shall be appointed to instruct
the young. All vice and disorder shall be not extermi-
nated ; no, no! only banished! We must not die yet.
Posterity cannot judge us till our work is done. We have
recalled L''Etre S^rpreme ; we must now remodel this
corrupted world. All shall be love and brotherhood ;
and — ho! Simon! Simon I — hold I Your pencil, St.
Just ! " And Robespierre wrote hastily. " This to Cit-
23*

2Y0 ZANONI.

izen President Dumas. Go with it quick, Simon.
These eighty heads must fall to-morroiv — to-morrow,
Simon. Dumas will advance their trial a day. I will
write to Fouquier Tinville, the public accuser. We meet
at the Jacobins to-night, Simon ; there, we will denounce
the Convention itself; there we will rally round us the
last friends of liberty and France."

A shout was heard in the distance behind — "Vive la
republique I "

The tyrant's eye shot a vindictive gleam. " The republic !
— faugh ! We did not destroy the throne of a thousand
years for that canaille!''^

The trial, the execution of the victims is advanced a
day! By the aid of the mysterious intelligence that had
guided and animated him hitherto, Zanoni learned that
his arts had been in vain. He knew that Yiola was safe,
if she could but survive an hour the life of the tyrant.
He knew that Robespierre's hours were numbered ; that
the 10th of Thermidor, on which he had originally de-
signed the execution of his last victims, would see himself
at the scaffold. Zanoni had toiled, had schemed for the
fall of the Butcher and his reign. To what end ? A single
word from the tyrant had baflied the result of all. The
execution of Yiola is advanced a day. Yain seer, who
wouldst make thyself the instrument of the Eternal, the
very dangers that now beset the tyrant but expedite the
doom of his victims ! To-morrow, eighty heads, and hers
whose pillow has been thy heart! To-morrow! and
Maximilien is safe to-night !

ZANONT. 2T1

CHAPTER XIII.

Erde raag zuriick in Erde stauben ;

Fliegt der Geist doch aus dem morschen Haus
Seine Asche mag der Sturmwind treiben,

Sein Leben dauert ewig aus ! *

Elegie.

To-morrow ! — and it is already twilight. One after
one, the gentle stars come smiling through the heaven.
The Seine, in its slow waters, yet trembles with the last
kiss of the rosy day ; and still, in the blue sky, gleams
the spire of Notre Dame ; and still, in the blue sky, looms
the guillotine by the Barriere du Trone. Turn to that
time-worn building, once the church and the convent of
the Freres-Precheurs, known by the then holy name of
Jacobins ; there the new Jacobins hold their club. There,
in that oblong hall, once the library of the peaceful monks,
assemble the idolaters of Saint Robespierre. Two im-
mense tribunes, raised at either end, contain the lees and
dregs of the atrocious populace — the majority of that
audience consisiing of the furies of the guillotine (^furies
de guillotine). In the midst of the hall are the bureau
and chair of the president — the chair long preserved by
the piety of the monks as the relic of St. Thomas Aquinas I

* Earth may crumble back into earth ; the Spirit will still escape
from its frail tenement. The wind of the storm may scatter his
ashes ; his being endures for ever.

^T2 " ZAN^NI.

Above this seat scowls the harsh bust of Brutus. An iron
lamp, and two branches, scatter over the vast room a
murky, fuliginous ray, beneath the light of which the
fierce faces of that Pandaemonium seem more grim and
haggard. There, from the orator's tribune, shrieks the
shrill wrath of Robespierre !

Meanwhile, all is chaos, disorder, half daring and half
cowardice, in the Committee of his foes. Rumors fly from
street to street, from haunt to haunt, from house to house.
The swallows flit low, and the cattle group together before
the storm. And above this roar of the lives and things
of the little hour, alone in his chamber stood he on whose
starry youth — symbol of the imperishable bloom of the
calm Ideal amidst the mouldering Actual — the clouds of
ages had rolled in vain.

All those exertions which ordinary wit and courage
could suggest had been tried in vain. All such exertions
were in vain, where, in that Saturnalia of death, a life
was the object. Nothing but the fall of Robespierre
could have saved his victims ; now, too late, that fall
would only serve to avenge.

Once more, in that last agony of excitement and despair,
the Seer had plunged into solitude, to invoke again the
aid or counsel of those mysterious intermediates between
earth and heaven who had renounced the intercourse of
the spirit when subjected to the common bondage of the
mortal. In the intense desire and anguish of his heart,
perhaps, lay a power not yet called forth ; for who has
not felt that the sharpness of extreme grief cuts and grides

ZANQNI. 2T3

away many of those strongest bonds of infirmity and doubt
v/hich bind down the souls of men to the cabined darkness
of the hour ; and that from the cloud and thunder-storm
often swoops the Olympian eagle that can ravish us aloft !
And the invocation was heard — the bondage of sense

was rent away from the visual mind. He looked, and

' ■«i

saw — no, not the being he had called, with its limbs of
light and unutterably tranquil smile — not his familiar,
Adon-Ai, the Son of Glory and the Star — but the Evil
Omen, the dark Chimera, the implacable Foe, with exult*
ation and malice burning in its hell-lit eyes. The Spectre,
no longer cowering and retreating into shadow, rose before
him, gigantic and erect, — the face, whose veil no mortal
hand had ever raised, was vstill concealed, but the form
was more distinct, corporeal, and cast from it, as an atmo-
sphere, horror, and rage, and awe. As an iceberg, the
breath of that presence froze the air ; as a cloud, it filled
the chamber, and blackened the stars from heaven.

" Lo ! " said Its voice, "I am here once more. Thou
hast robbed me of a meaner prey. 'Now exorcise thyself
from my power ! Thy life has left thee, to live in the heart
of a daughter of the charnel and the worm. In that life
I come to thee with my inexorabl-e tread. Thou art re-
turned to the Threshold — thou, whose steps have trodden
the verges of the Infinite ! And, as the goblin of its
phantasy seizes on a child in the dark, — mighty one, who
wouldst conquer Death, I seize on thee ! "

"Back to thy thraldom, slave ! if thou art come to the
voice that called thee not, it is again not to command, but

s

2T4 Z A N 0 N I .

to obey ! Thou, from whose whisper I gained the boons
of the lives lovelier aud dearer than my own — thou, — I
command thee, not by spell and charm, but by the force
of a soul mightier than the malice of thy being, — thou
serve me yet, and speak again the secret that can rescue
the lives thou hast, by permission of the Universal Mas-
ter, permitted me to retain awhile in the temple of the
clay!"

Brighter and more devouringly burnt the glare from
those lurid eyes ; more visible and colossal yet rose the
dilating shape ; a yet fiercer and more disdainful hate
spoke in the voice that answered — "Didst thou think
that my boon would be other than thy curse ? Happy
for thee hadst thou mourned over the deaths which come
by the gentle hand of Nature — hadst thou never known
how the name of mother consecrates the face of Beauty,
and never, bending over thy first-born, felt the imperish-
able sweetness of a father's love ! They are saved, for
what ? — the mother, for the death of violence, and shame,
and blood — for the doorasman's hand to put aside that
shining hair which has entangled thy bridegroom kisses,
the child, first and last of thine offspring, in whom thou
didst hope to found a race that should hear with thee the
music of celestial harps, and float, by the side of thy
familiar, Adon-Ai, through the azure rivers of joy, — the
child, to live on a few days, as a fungus in a burial-vault,
a thing of the loathsome dungeon, dying of cruelty, and
neglect, and famine. Ha ! ha ! thou who wouldst baffle
Death, learn how the deathless die if they dare to love

Z AN ON I. 215

the mortal. Now^ Chaldsean, behold my boons ! Now I
seize and wrap thee with the pestilence of my presence ;
now, evermore, till thy long race is run, mine eyes shall
glow into thy brain, and mine arms shall clasp thee, when
thou wouldst take the wings of the Morning, and flee
from the embrace of Night ! "

" I tell thee, no ! And again I compel thee, speak and
answer to the lord who can command his slave. I know,
though my lore fails me, and the reeds on which I leaned
pierced my side, I know yet that it is written that the life
of which I question can be saved from the headsman.
Thou wrappest her future in the darkness of thy shadow,
but thou canst not shape it. Thou mayest foreshow the
antidote ; thou canst not effect the bane. From thee I
wring the secret, though it torture thee to name it. I
approach thee — I look dauntless into thine eyes. The
soul that loves can dare all things. Shadow, I defy thee,
and compel ! "

The spectre waned and recoiled. Like a vapor that
lessens as the sun pierces and pervades it, the form shrunk
cowering and dwarfed in the dimmer distance, and through
the casement again rushed the stars.

" Yes," said the Voice, with a faint and hollow accent,
" thou canst save her from the headsman ; for it is written,
that sacrifice can save. Ha ! ha ! " And the shape again
suddenly dilated into the gloom of its giant stature, and
its ghastly laugh exulted, as if the Foe, a moment baffled,
had regained its might. " Ha ! ha ! — thou canst save her
life, if thou wilt sacrifice thine own ! Is it for this thou

2*76 ZANONI.

hast lived on through crumbling empires and countless
generations of thy race ? At last shall Death reclaim
thee? Wouldst thou save her? — die for her ! Fall, 0
stately column, over which stars yet unformed may gleam
— fall, that the herb at thy base may drink a few hours
longer the sunlight and the dews ! Silent ! Art thou
ready for the sacrifice ? See, the moon moves up through
Heaven. Beautiful and wise one, wilt thou bid her smile
to-morrow on thy headless clay ? "

"Back! for my soul, in answering thee fram depths
where thou canst not hear it, has regained its glory ; and
I hear the wings of Adon-Ai gliding musical through the
air."

He spoke ; and, with a low shriek of baffled rage and
hate, the Thing was gone, and through the room rushed
luminous and sudden, the Presence of silvery light.

As the Heavenly visitor stood in the atmosphere of his
own lustre, and looked upon the face of the Theurgist with
an aspect of ineffable tenderness and love, all space seemed
lighted from his smile. Along the blue air without, from
that chamber in which his wings had halted, to the farthest
star in the azure distance, it seemed as if the track of his
flight were visible, by a lengthened splendor in the air,
like the column of moon-light on the sea. Like the flower
that diffuses perfume as the very breath of its life, so the
emanation of that presence was joy. Over the world, as
a million times swifter than light, than electricity, the Son
of Glory had sped his way to the side of love, his wings
had scattered delii^ht as the morning scatters dew. For

Z AN ON I. 2t1

that brief moment, Poverty had ceased to mourn, Disease
fled from its prey, and Hope breathed a dream of Heaven
into the darkness of Despair.

"Thou art right," said the melodious Yoice. "Thy
courage has restored thy power. Once more, in the haunts
of earth, thy soul charms me to thy side. Wiser now, in
the moment when thou comprehendest Death, than when
thy unfettered spirit learned the solemn mystery of Life ;
the human affections that thralled and humbled thee awhile
bring to thee, in these last hours of thy mortality, the
sublimest heritage of thy race — the eternity that com-
mences from the grave."

"0 Aidon-Ai," said the Chaldean, as, circumfused in
the splendor of the visitant, a glory more radiant than
human beauty settled round his form, and seemed already
to belong to the eternity of which the Bright One spoke,
" as men, before they die, see and comprehend the enigmas
hidden from them, before,* so in this hour, when the sac-
rifice of self to another brings the course of ages to its
goal, I see the littleness of Life, compared to the majesty
of Death ; but oh. Divine Consoler, even here, even in
thy presence, the aSections that inspire me, sadden. To
leave behind me in this bad world, unaided, unprotected,
those for whom I die ! the wife ! the child ! — oh, speak
comfort to me in this ! "

* The greatest Poet, and one of the noblest thinkers, of the least
age, said, on his death-bed, "IManj- things obscure to me before,
now clear up, and become visible." — See the Life of Schiller.

IL ~ 24

2t8 ZANONI.

"And what," said the visitor, with a slight accent of
reproof in the tone of celestial pity, " what, with all thy
wisdom and thy starry secrets, with all thy empire of the
past, and thy visions of the future — what art thou to the
All-Directing and Omniscient ? Canst thou yet imagine
that thy presence on earth can give to the hearts thou
lovest the shelter which the humblest take from the wings
of the Presence that lives in Heaven ? Fear not thou for
their future. Whether thou live or die, their future is the
care of the Most High ! In the dungeon and on the scaf-
fold looks everlasting the Eye of Him, tenderer than thou
to love, wiser than thou to guide, mightier than thou to
save !"

Zanoni bowed his head ; and when he looked up again,
the last shadow had left his brow. The visitor was gone ;
but still the glory of his presence seemed to shine upon
the spot ; still the solitary air seemed to murmur with
tremulous delight. And thus ever shall it be with those
who have once, detaching themselves utterly from life,
received the visit of the Angel Faith, Solitude and space
retain the splendor, and it settles like a halo round their
graves.

ZANONI. 279

CHAPTER XIY.

Dann zur Blumenflor der Sterne
Aufgeschauet liebewarm,
Fass' ihn freundlich Arm in Arm .
Trag' ihn in die blaue Feme.

Uhland, An den Tod.

Then towards the Garden of the Star
Lift up thine aspect warm with love,

And, friend-like link'd through space afar,
Mount with him, arm in arm, above.

Uhland, Foem to Death.

He stood upon the loftj balcony that overlooked the
quiet city. Though, afar, the fiercest passions of men
were at work on the web of strife and doom, all that gave
itself to his view was calm and still in the ravs of the
summer moon, for his soul was wrapped from man and
man's narrow sphere, and only the serener glories of crea-
tion were present to the vision of the Seer. There he
stood, alone and thoughtful, to take the last farewell of
the wondrous life that he had known.

Coursing through the fields of space, he beheld the
gossamer shapes, whose choral joys his spirit had so often
shared. There, group. upon group, they circled in the
starry silence, multiform in the unimaginable beauty of a
being fed by ambrosial dews and serenest light. In his
trance, all the universe stretched visible beyond ; in the
green valleys afar, he saw the dances of the fairies ; in

280 Z AN ONI.

the bowels of the mountains, he beheld the race that breathe
the lurid air of the volcanoes, and hide from the light of
Heaven ; on every leaf in the numberless forests, in every
drop of the unmeasured seas, he surveyed its separate
and swarming world ; far up, in the farthest blue, he saw
orb upon orb ripening into shape, and planets starting
from the central fire, to run their day of ten thousand
years. For everywhere in creation is the breath of the
Creator, and in every spot where the breath breathes is
life ! And alone, in the distance, the lonely man beheld
his Magian brother. There, at work with his numbers
and his Cabala, amidst the wrecks of Rome, passionless
and calm, sat in his cell the mystic Mejnour ; living on,
living ever while the world lasts, indifferent whether his
knowledge produces weal or woe ; a mechanical agent of
a more tender and a wiser Will, that guides every spring
to its inscrutable designs. Living on — living ever — as
Science that cares alone for knowledge, and halts not to
consider how knowledge advances happiness ; how Human
Improvement, rushing through civilization, crushes in its
march all who cannot grapple to its wheels ; * ever, with

* "You colonize the lands of the savage with the Anglo-Saxon —
you civilize that portion of the earth; but is the savage civilized?
He is exterminated! You accumulate machinery — you increase
the total of wealth: but what becomes of the labor you displace?
One generation is sacrificed to the next. You diifuse knowledge —
and the world seems to grow brighter ; but Discontent at Poverty
replaces Ignorance, happy with its crust. Every improvement,
every advancement in civilization, injures some, to benefit others,
and either cherishes the want of to-day, or prepares the revolution
of to-morrow." — Stephen Montague.

Z AN ONI. 281

its Cabala and its number, lives on to change, in its blood-
less movements, the face of the habitable world 1

And, " Oh, farewell to life I " murmured the glorious
dreamer. " Sweet, Oh life ! hast thou been to me. How
fathomless thy joys — how rapturously has my soul bounded
forth upon the upward paths ! To him who for ever re-
news his youth in the clear fount of N'ature, how exquisite
is the mere happiness to be ! Farewell, ye lamps of heaven,
and ye million tribes, the Populace of Air. Not a mote
in the beam, not an herb on the mountain, not a pebble
on the shore, not a seed far-blown into the wilderness, but
contributed to the lore that sought in all the true principle
of life, the Beautiful, the Joyous, the Immortal. To
others, a land, a city, a hearth, has been a home ; my
home has been wherever the intellect could pierce, or the
spirit could breathe the air.'-

He paused, and through the immeasurable space, his
eyes and his heart, penetrating the dismal dungeon, rested
on his child. He saw it slumbering in the arms of the
pale mother, and his soul spoke to the sleeping soul.
" Forgive me, if my desire was sin ; I dreamed to have
reared and nurtured thee to the divinest destinies my
visions could foresee. Betimes, as the mortal part was
strengthened against disease, to have purified the spiritual
from every sin ; to have led thee, heaven upon heaven,
through the holy ecstasies which make up the existence
of the orders that dwell on high ; to have formed, from
thy sublime affections, the pure and ever-living commu-
.24*

282 ZANONI.

nication between thy mother and myself. The dream was
but a dream — it is no more! In sight myself of the
grave, I feel, at last, that through the portals of the grave
lies the true initiation into the holy and the wise. Beyond
those portals I await ye both, beloved pilgrims ! "

From his numbers and his Cabala, in his cell, amidst
the wrecks of Rome, Mejnour, startled, looked up, and,
through the spirit, felt that the spirit of his distant friend
addressed him.

" Fare thee well for ever upon this earth ! Thy last
companion forsakes thy side. Thine age survives the
youth of all ; and the Final Day shall find thee still the
oontemplator of our tombs. I go with my free will into
the land of darkness; but new suns and systems blaze
around us from the grave. I go where the souls of those
for whom I resign the clay shall be my co-mates through
eternal youth. At last, I recognize the true ordeal and
the real victory. Mejnour, cast down thy elixir ; lay by
thy load of years ! Wherever the soul can wander, the
Eternal Soul of all things protects it still ! "

Z AN ONI. 283

CHAPTER XY.

Us ne veulent plus perdre un moment d'une nuit si pr^cieuse.*

Lacretelle, tom. xii.

It was late that night, and Rene-Fran9ois Dumas,
President of the Kevolutionary Tribunal, had re-entered
his cabinet, on his return from the Jacobin club. With
him were two men who might be said to represent, the
one the moral, the other the physical force of the Reign
of Terror : Fouquier-Tinville, the Public Accuser, and
Francois Henriot, the General of the Parisian National
Guard. This formidable triumvirate were assembled to
debate on the proceedings of the next day ; and the three
sister-witches, over their hellish caldron, were scarcely
animated by a more fiend-like spirit, or engaged in more
execrable designs, than these three heroes of the Revolu-
tion in their premeditated massacre of the morrow.

Dumas was but little altered in appearance since, in the
earlier part of this narrative, he was presented to the
reader, except that his manner was somewhat more short
and severe, and his eye yet more restless. But he seemed
almost a superior being by the side of his associates.
Rene-Dumas, born of respectable parents, and well edu-
cated, despite his ferocity, was not without a certain re-
finement, which perhaps rendered him the more acceptable

* They would not lose another moment of so precious a night.

284 ZANONI.

to the precise and formal Robespierre.* But Henriot
had been a lackey, a thief, a spy of the police ; he had
drunk the blood of Madame de Lamballe, and had risen
■to his present rank for no quality but his ruffianism ; and
Fouquier-Tinville, the son of a provincial agriculturist,
and afterwards a clerk at the Bureau of the Police, was
little less base in his manners, and yet more, from a certain
loathsome buffoonery, revolting in his speech ; bull-headed,
with black, sleek hair, with a narrow and livid forehead,
with small eyes, that twinkled with a sinister malice ;
strong and coarsely built, he looked what he was, the
audacious Bully of a lawless and relentless Bar,

Dumas trimmed the candles, and bent over the list of
the victims for the morrow.

" It is a long catalogue," said the President ; " eighty
trials for one day ! And Robespierre's orders to despatch
the whole fouriiee are unequivocal."

" Pooh ! " said Fouquier, with a coarse, loud laugh ;
'* we must try them en masse. I know how to deal with
our jury. ' Je pense, Gitoyens, que voiis etes conuaincus
du crime des accuses ? 'f Ha ! ha ! — the longer the list,
the shorter the work."

" Oh, yes," growled out Henriot, with an oath, — as
usual, half-drunk, and lolling on his chair, with his spurred
heels on the table — " little Tinville is the man for des-
patch."

* Dumas was a beau in his way. His gala-dress was a blood-red
coat, with the finest ruffles.

I I think, citizens, that you arc convinced of the crime of the
accused.

Z AN ONI. 285

*' Citizen Henriot," said Dumas, gravely, " permit me
to request thee to select another footstool ; and for the
rest, let me warn thee that to-morrow is a critical and
important day ; one that will decide the fate of France."

" A fig for little France ! Vive le vertueux Robespierre,
la Colonne de la Reiyuhlique I "^ Plague on this talking;
it is dry work. Hast thou no eau de vie in that little
cupboard ? "

Dumas and Fouquier exchanged looks of disgust. Du-
mas shrugged his shoulders, and replied —

'•' It is to guard thee against eau de vie, Citizen General
Henriot, that I have requested thee to meet me here.
Listen if thou canst ! "

" Oh, talk away ! thy melier is to talk, mine to fight
and to drink."

" To-morrow, I tell thee then, the populace will be
abroad ; all factions will be astir. It is probable enough
that they will even seek to arrest our tumbrils on their
way to the guillotine. Have thy men armed and ready ;
keep the streets clear ; cut down without mercy whom-
soever may obstruct the ways."

" I understand," said Henriot, striking his sword so
loudly that Dumas half-started at the clank — "Black
Henriot is no * LidulgenU ^^

"Look to it, then, Citizen — look to it! And hark
thee," he added, with a grave and sombre brow, "if thou
wouldst keep thine own head on thy shoulders, beware of
the eau de lu'e."

* Long life to the virtuous Robespierre — the pillar of the Republic.

286 ZANONI.

"My own head ! — sacre mille tonnerres! Dost thou
threaten the General of the Parisian army ? "

Dumas, like Robespierre, a precise, atrabilious, and
arrogant man, was about to retort, when the craftier Tin-
ville laid his hand on his arm, and, turning to the General,
said, "My dear Henriot, thy dauntless republicanism,
which is too ready to give offence, must learn to take a
reprimand from the representative of "Republican Law.
Seriously, mon cher, thou must be sober for the next three
or four days ; after the crisis is over, thou and I will drink
a bottle together, Com6, Dumas, relax thine austerity,
and shake hands with our friend. No quarrels amongst
ourselves ! "

Dumas hesitated, and extended his hand, which the
ruffian clasped ; and, maudlin tears succeeding his ferocity,
he half sobbed, half hiccupped forth his protestations of
civism and his promises of sobriety.

"Well, we depend on thee, mon General,'^ said Dumas ;
" and now, since we shall all have need of vigor for to-
morrow, go home and sleep soundly."

" Yes, I forgive thee, Dumas — I forgive thee. I am not
vindictive — I ! but still, if a man threatens me — if a man
insults me" — And, with the quick changes of intoxication,
again his eyes gleamed fire through their foul tears. With
some difficulty Fouquier succeeded at last in soothing the
brute, and leading him from the chamber. But still, as
some wild beast disappointed of a prey, he growled and
snarled, as his heavy tread descended the stairs. A tall
trooper, mounted, was leading Henriot's horse to and fro

ZANONI. 287

the streets ; and as the General waited at the porch till
his attendant turned, a stranger stationed by the wall ac-
costed him —

" General Henriot, I have desired to speak with thee.
Next to Robespierre, thou art, or shouldst be, the most
powerful man in France."

''Hem! — yes, I ought to be. What then? — every
man has not his deserts ! "

" Hist ! " said the stranger ; " thy pay is scarcely suit-
able to tliy rank and thy wants."

''That is true."

" Even in a revolution, a man takes care of his fortunes ! '^

"Diable / speak out. Citizen."

" I have a thousand pieces of gold with me — they are
thine, if thou wilt grant me one small favor."

" Citizen, I grant it ! " said Henriot, waving his hand
majestically. ''Is it to denounce some rascal who has
offended thee ? "

" No ; it is simply this : — write these words to Presi-
dent Dumas — 'Admit the bearer to thy presence ; and if
thou canst grant him the request he will make to thee, it
will be an inestimable obligation to Francois Henriot.'"
The stranger, as he spoke, placed pencil and tablets in
the shaking hands of the soldier.

"And where is the gold ? "

"Here."

With some difficulty, Henriot scrawled the words dic-
tated to him, clutched the gold, mounted his horse, and
was gone.

288 Z A N 0 N I .

Meanwhile Fouquier, when he had closed the door upon
Henriot, said sharply — " How canst thou be so mad as
to incense that brigand ? Knowest thou not that our
laws are nothing without the physical force of the National
Guard, and that he is their leader ? "

"I know this, that Kobespierre must have been mad
to place that drunkard at their head ; and mark my words,
Fouquier, if the struggle come, it is that man's incapacity
and cowardice that will destroy us. Yes, thou mayst live
thyself to accuse thy beloved Robespierre, and to perish
in his fall."

" For all that, we must keep well with Henriot till we
can find the occasion to seize and behead him. To be
safe, we must fawn on those who are still in power; and
fawn the more, the more we would depose them. Do
not think this Henriot, when he w^akes to-morrow, will
forget thy threats. He is the most revengeful of human
beings. Thou must send and soothe him in the morning ! "

" Right," said Dumas, convinced. " I was too hasty ;
and now I think we have nothing further to do, since we
have arranged to make short work with onv fou7^nee of
to-morrow. I see in the list a knave I have long marked
out, though his crime once procured me a legacy — Nicot,
the Hebertist."

"And young Andre Chenier, the Poet. Ah, I forgot;
we beheaded him to-day ! Revolutionary virtue is at its
acme. His own brother abandoned him ! " *

* His brother is said, indeed, to have contributed to the condem-
nation of this virtuous and ilhastrious person. He was heard to

ZANONI. 289

" There is a foreigner — an Italian woman in the list ;
but I can find no charge made out against her."

"All the same ; we must execute her for the sake of the
round number ; eighty sounds better than seventy-nine I "

Here a huissier brought a paper, on which was written
the request of Henriot.

"Ah ! this is fortunate," said Tinville, to whom Dumas
chucked the scroll — " grant the prayer by all means ; so
at least that it does not lessen our bead-roll. But I will
do Henriot the justice to say, that he never asks to let off,
but to put on. Good night I I am worn out — my escort
waits below. Only on such an occasion would I venture
forth in the streets at night." * And Fouquier, with a
long yawn, quitted the room.

"Admit the bearer ! " said Dumas, who, withered and
dried, as lawyers in practice mostly are, seemed to require
as little sleep as his parchments.

The stranger entered.

" Kene-Fran9ois Dumas," said he, seating himself op-
posite to the President, and markedly adopting the plural,

cry aloud — "Si raon frere est coupable, qu'il perisse." (If my
brother be culpable, let him die.) This brother, Marie-Joseph, also
a poet, and the author of " Charles IX.," so celebrated ia the earlier
days of the Revolution, enjoyed, of course, according to the wonted
justice of the world, a triumphant career; and was proclaimed in
the Champ de Mars, "le premier des poetes Franyais," a title due
to his murdered brother.

■5^ During the latter part of the Reign of Terror, Fouquier rarely
stirred out at night, and never without an escort. In the Reign of
Terror, those most terrified were its kings.

II.— 25 T

290 ZANONI.

as if in contempt of the revolutionary jargon ; " amidst
the excitement and occupations of your later life, I know
not if you can remember that we have met before ? "

The judge scanned the features of his visitor, and a
pale blush settled on his sallow cheeks — "Yes, Citizen, I
remember I "

"And you recall the words I then uttered ! You spoke
tenderly and philanthropically of your horror of capital
executions — you exulted in the approaching revolution
as the termination of all sanguinary punishments — you
quoted reverently the saying of Maximilien Kobespierre,
the rising statesman, 'the executioner is the invention of
the tyrant ; ' and I replied, that while you spoke, a fore-
boding seized me that we should meet again when your
ideas of death and the philosophy of revolutions might
be changed ! Was I right, Citizen Rene-rran9ois Dumas,
President of the Revolutionary Tribunal ? ''

" Pooh ! " said Dumas, with some confusion on his
brazen brow. "I spoke then as men speak who have
not acted. Revolutions are not made with rose-water !
But truce to the gossip of the long-ago. I remember,
also, that thou didst then save the life of my relation, and
it will please thee to learn that his intended murderer will
be guillotined to-morrow."

-" That concerns yourself — your justice or your revenge.
Permit me the egotism to remind you, that you then pro-
mised that if ever a day should come when you could
serve me, your life — yes, the phrase was, 'your heart's
blood' — was at my bidding. Think not, austere judge.

Z AN ONI. 291

that I come to ask a boon that can affect yourself — 1
come but to ask a day's respite for another ! "

" Citizen, it is impossible ! I have the order of Robes-
pierre that not one less than the total on my list must
undergo their trial for to-morrow. As for the verdict,
that rests with the jury ! "

" I do not ask you to diminish the catalogue. Listen
still ! In your death-roll there is the name of an Italian
woman, whose youth, whose beauty, and whose freedom,
not only from every crime, but every tangible charge, will
excite only compassion, and not terror. Even you would
tremble to pronounce her sentence. It will be dangerous
on a day when the populace will be excited, when your
tumbrils may be arrested, to expose youth and innocence
and beauty to the pity and courage of a revolted crowd."

Dumas looked up, and shrunk from the eye of the
stranger.

** I do not deny. Citizen, that there is reason in what
thou urgest. But my orders are positive."

" Positive only as to the number of the victims. I offer
you a substitute for this one. I offer you the head of a
man who knows all of the very conspiracy which now
threatens Robespierre and yourself; and compared with
one clue to which, you would think even eighty ordinary
lives a cheap purchase."

"That alters the case," said Dumas, eagerly; "if thou
canst do this, on ray own responsibility I will postDono
the trial of the Italian. Now name the proxy 1 "

"You behold him!"

292 ZANONI.

" Thou ! " exclaimed Dumas, while a fear he could not
conceal betrayed itself through his surprise. " Thou I —
and thou comest to me alone at night to offer thyself to
justice. Ha! — this is a snare. Tremble, fool I — thou
art in my power, and I can have hothf^^

"You can," said the stranger, with a calm smile of
disdain ; " but my life is valueless without my revelations.
Sit still, I command you — hear me I " and the light in
those dauntless eyes spell-bound and awed the judge.
"You will remove me to the Concergierie — you will fix
my trial, under the name of Zanoni, amidst your fournee
of to-morrow. If I do not satisfy you by my speech,
you hold the woman I die to save as your hostage. It is
but the reprieve for her of a single day that I demand.
The day following the morrow, I shall be dust, and you
may wreak your vengeance on the life that remains.
Tush ! Judge and condemner of thousands, do you hesi-
tate— do you imagine that the man who voluntarily offers
himself to death, will be daunted into uttering one syllable
at your bar against his will ? Have you not had expe-
rience enough of the inflexibility of pride and courage ?
President, I place before you the ink and implements I
Write to the gaoler a reprieve of one day for the woman
whose life can avail you nothing, and I will bear the order
to my own prison — I, who can now tell this much as an
earnest of what I can communicate — while I speak, your
own name, judge, is in a list of death. I can tell you by
whose hand it is written down — I can tell you in what
quarter to look for danger — I can tell you from what

Z AN ONI. 293

cloud, in this lurid atmosphere, hangs the storm that shall
burst on Robespierre and his reign ! "

Dumas grew pale ; and his eyes vainly sought to escape
the magnetic gaze that overpowered and mastered him.
Mechanically, and as if under an agency not his own, he
wrote while the stranger dictated.

"Well," he said, then, forcing a smile to his lips ; *'I
promised I would serve you ; see, I am faithful to my
word. I suppose that you are one of those fools of feel-
ing— those professors of anti-revolutionary virtue, of
whom I have seen not a few before my bar. Faugh ! it
sickens me to see those who make a merit of incivism, and
perish to save some bad patriot, because it is a son, or a
father, or a wife, or a daughter, who is saved."

" I am one of those fools of feeling," said the stranger,
rising. "You have divined aright."

"And wilt thou not, in return for my mercy, utter to-
night the revelations thou wouldst proclaim to-morrow ?
Come: and, perhaps, thou too — nay, the woman also,
may receive, not reprieve, but pardon."

"Before your tribunal, and there alone! Nor will I
deceive you. President. My information may avail you
not ; and even while I show the cloud, the bolt may fall."

" Tush ! — Prophet, look to thyself! Go, madman, go.
I know, too well, the contumacious obstinacy of the class
to which I suspect thou belongest, to waste further words.
Diablef but ye grow so accustomed to look on death,
that ye forget the respect ye owe to it. Since thou offerest
25*

294 Z ANON I.

me thy head, I accept it. To-morrow, thou raayst repent;
it will be too late."

"Ay, too late. President," echoed the calm visitor.

" But, remember, it is not pardon, it is but a day's re-
prieve, I have promised to this woman. According as
thou dost satisfy me to-morrow, she lives or dies. I am
frank, Citizen ; thy ghost shall not haunt me for want of
faith."

" It is but a day that I have asked ; the rest I leave to
justice and to Heaven. Your huissiers wait below."

CHAPTER XYI.

Und den Mordstahl seh' ich blinken;
Und das Morderauge gluhn ! *

Kassandra.

YiOLA was in the prison, that opened not but for those
already condemned before adjudged. Since her exile from
Zanoni, her very intellect had seemed paralyzed. All that
beautiful exuberance of fancy, which if not the fruit of
genius, seemed its blossoms: all that gush of exquisite
thought, which Zanoni had justly told her flowed with
mysteries and subtleties ever new to him, the wise one ;
all were gone, annihilated ; the blossom withered, the
fount dried up. From something almost above woman-

* And I see the steel of Murder glitter,
And the eye of Murder glow.

ZANONI. 295

hood, she seemed listlessly to sink iuto something below
childhood. With the inspirer the inspirations had ceased ;
and, in deserting love, genius also was left behind.

She scarcely comprehended why she had been thus torn
from her home and the mechanism of her dull tasks. She
scarcely knew what meant those kijndly groups, that, struck
with her exceeding loveliness, had gathered round her in
the prison, with mournful looks, but with words of com-
fort. She, who had hitherto been taught to abhor those
whom Law condemns for crime, was amazed to hear that
beings thus compassionate and tender, with cloudless and
lofty brows, with gallant and gentle mien, were criminals,
for whom Law had no punishment short of death. But
they, the savages, gaunt and menacing, who had dragged
her from her home, who had attempted to snatch from
her the infant, while she clasped it in her arms, and
laughed fierce scorn at her mute quivering lips — they
were the chosen citizens, the men of virtue, the favorites
of Power, the ministers of Law ! Such thy black caprices,
O thou, the ever-shifting and calumnious, — Human Judg-
ment h

A squalid, and yet a gay world, did the prison-houses
of that day present. There, as in the sepulchre to which
they led, all ranks were cast, with an even-handed scorn.
And yet there, the reverence that comes from great emo-
tions restored Nature's first and imperishable, and most
lovely, and most noble Law — the inequality between
MAN AND MAN ! There, place was given by the prisoners,
whether royalists or sans-culottes, to Age, to Learning,

296 ZANONI.

to Renown, to Beauty ; and Strength, with its own inborn
chivalry, raised into rank the helpless and the weak. The
iron sinews, and the Herculean shoulders, made way for
the woman and the child ; and the graces of Humanity,
lost elsewhere, sought their refuge in the abode of Terror.

" And wherefore, my child, do they bring thee hither ? "
asked an old grey-haired priest.

"I cannot guess."

'* Ah ! if you know not your offence, fear the worst."

" And my child ? " (for the infant was still suffered to
rest upon her bosom.)

" Alas, young mother ! they will suffer thyx'hild to live."

" And for this — an orphan in the dungeon ! " murmured
the accusing heart of Yiola, '^ have I reserved his off-
spring ! Zanoni, even in thought, ask not — ask not what
I have done with the child I bore thee!"

Night came ; the crowd rushed to the grate, to hear
the muster-roll.* Her name was with the doomed. And
the old priest, better prepared to die, but reserved from
the death-list, laid his hands on her head, and blessed her
while he wept. She heard, and wondered ; but she did
not weep. With downcast eyes, with arms folded on her
bosom, she bent submissively to the call. But now,
another name was uttered ; and a man, who had pushed
rudely past her, to gaze or to listen, shrieked out a howl
of despair and rage. She turned, and their eyes met.
Through the distance of time, she recognized that hideous
aspect. Nicot's face settled back into its devilish sneer.

* Called in the mocking jargon of the day, " the Evening Gazette."

Z AN ONI. 297

"At least, gentle T^eapolitan, the Guillotine will unite
us. Oh, we shall sleep well our w^edding-night ! " And,
with a laugh, he strode away through the crowd, and
vanished into his lair.

* * * >K 'i^ *

She was placed in her gloomy cell, to await the mor-
row. But the child was still spared her ; and she thought
it seemed as if conscious of the awful Present. In their
way to the prison, it had not moaned or wept; it had
looked with its clear eyes, unshrinking, on the gleaming
pikes and savage brows of the huissie7's. And now, alone
in the dungeon, it put its arms round her neck, and mur-
mured its indistinct sounds, low and sweet as some un-
known language of consolation and of heaven. And of
heaven it was ! for, at the murmur, the terror melted from
her soul : upward, from the dungeon and the death —
upward, where the happy cherubim chant the mercy of
the All-loving, whispered that cherub's voice. She fell
upon her knees and prayed. The despoilers of all that
beautifies and hallows life had desecrated the altar, and
denied the God ! — they had removed from the last hour
of their victims the Priest, the Scripture, and the Cross I
But Faith builds in the dungeon and the lazar-house its
sublimest shrines ; and up, through roofs of stone, that
shut out the eye of Heaven, ascends the ladder where the
angels glide to and fro — Prayer.

And there, in the very cell beside her own, the atheist
Nicot sits stolid amidst the darkness, and hugs the thought

298 ZANONI.

of Danton, that death is nothingness.* His, no spectacle
of an appalled and perturbed conscience 1 Remorse is the
echo of a lost virtue, and virtue he never knew. Had he
to live again, he would live the sajne. But more terrible
than the death-bed of a believing and despairing sinner,
that blank gloom of apathy — that contemplation of the
worm and the rat of the charnel-house — that grim and
loathsome nothingness which, for his eye, falls like a pall
over the universe of life. Still, staring into space, gnaw-
iag his livid lip, he looks upon the darkness, convinced
that darkness is for ever and for ever I

jjs ;}; :Ji H< >K sfs

Place, there ! place I Room yet in your crowded cells.
Another has come to the slaughter-house.

As the gaoler, lamp in hand, ushered in the stranger, the
latter touched him, and whispered. The stranger drew a
jewel from his finger. Dianire, how the diamond flashed
in the ray of the lamp 1 Value each head of your eighty at
a thousand francs, and the jewel is more worth than all?
The gaoler paused, and the diamond laughed in his dazzled
eyes. 0 thou Cerberus, thou hast mastered all else that
seems human in that fell employ. Thou hast no pity, no
love, and no remorse. But Avarice survives the rest, and
the foul heart's master-serpent swallows up the tribe. Ha !
ha ! crafty stranger, thou hast conquered ! They tread
the gloomy corridor ; they arrive at the door where the

* " Ma demeure sera bientot la. neant" (My abode will soon be
Nothingness), said Danton before his judges.

Z AN ON I. 299

gaoler has placed the fatal mark, now to be erased, for the
prisoner within is to be reprieved a day. The key grates
in the lock — the door yawns — the stranger takes the
lamp and enters.

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH
AND LAST.

"Cosi vince GoflFredo!"*

Ger. Lib., cant. xx. — xliv.

And Viola was in prayer. She heard not the opening
of the door ; she saw not the dark shadow that fell along
the floor. His power, his arts were gone ; but the mystery
and the spell known to her simple heart did not desert her
in the hours of trial and despair. When Science falls as a
firework from the sky it would invade, when Genius withers
as a flower in the breath of the icy charnel, the hope of a
child-like soul wraps the air in light, and the innocence of
unquestioning Belief covers the grave with blossoms.

In the farthest corner of the cell she knelt ; and the
infant, as if to imitate what it could not comprehend, bent
its little limbs, and bowed its smiling face, and knelt with
her also, by her side.

He stood, and gazed upon them as the light of thejamp
fell calmly on their forms. It fell over those clouds of
golden hair, dishevelled, parted, thrown back from the

* Thus conquereJ Godfrey.

300 Z ANON I.

rapt, candid brow; the dark eyes raised on high, wliere,
through the human tears, a light as from above was mir-
rored ; the hands clasped — the lips apart — the form all
animate and holy with the sad serenity of innocence and
the touching humility of woman. And he heard her voice,
though it scarcely left her lips — the low voice that the
heart speaks — loud enough for God to hear I

"And if never more to see him, O Father ! Canst Thou
not make the love that will not die minister, even beyond
the grave, to his earthly fate ? Canst Thou not yet permit
it, as a living spirit, to hover over him — a spirit fairer
than all his science can conjure ? Oh, whatever lot be
ordained to either, grant — even though a thousand ages
may roll between us — grant, when at last purified and
regenerate, and fitted for the transport of such a re-union
. — grant, that we may meet once more I And for his child

— it kneels to Thee from the dungeon floor ! To-morrow,
and whose breast shall cradle it ! — whose hand shall feed !

— whose lips shall pray for its weal below and its soul
hereafter I" She paused — her voice choked with sobs.

** Thou, Yiola ! — thou, thyself. He whom thou hast
deserted is here to preserve the mother to the child I "

She started! — those accents, tremulous as her' own !
She started to her feet ! — he was there, — in all the pride
of his unwaning youth and superhunaan beauty I there, in
the house of dread, and in the hour of travail I — there,
image and personation of the love that can pierce the
Yalley of the Shadow, and can glide, the unscathed wan-
derer from the heaven, through the roaring abyss of hell.

Z AN ON I. 301

With a cry, never, perhaps, heard before in that gloomy
vault — a cry of delight and rapture, she sprung forward,
and fell at his feet.

He bent do wn to raise her; but she slid from his arms. He
called her by the familiar epithets of the old endearment,
and she only answered him by sobs. Wildly, passionately,
she kissed his hands, the hem of his garment, but voice
was gone.

'' Look up, look up ! — I am here — I am here to save
thee ! Wilt thou deny to me thy sweet face ? Truant,
wouldst thou fly me still ? "

" Fly thee ! " she said, at last, and in a broken voice ;
" oh, if my thoughts wronged thee — oh, if my dream, that
awful dream, deceived — kneel down with me, and pray
for our child ! " Then, springing to her feet with a sudden
impulse, she caught up the infant, and placing it in his
arms, sobbed forth, with deprecating and humble tones,
"Not for my sake — not for mine, did I abandon thee,
but "

" Hush ! " said Zanoni ; " I know all the thoughts that
thy confused and -struggling senses can scarcely analyze
themselves. And see how, with a look, thy child answers
them ! "

And in truth the face of that strange infant seemed
radiant with its silent and unfathomable joy. It seemed
as if it recognized the father ; it clung — it forced itself
to his breast, and there, nestling, turned its bright clear
eyes upon Viola, and smiled.

"Pray for my child ! " said Zanoni, mournfully. "The

II.-

302 Z AN ON I.

thoughts of souls that would aspire as mine, are all
2Drayer!^'' And, seating himself by her side, he began to
reveal to her some of the holier secrets of his lofty being.
He spoke of the sublime and intense faith from which
alone the diviner knowledge can arise — the faith which,
seeing the immortal everywhere, purifies and exalts the
mortal that beholds — the glorious ambition that dwells
not in the cabals and crimes of earth, but amidst those
solemn wonders that speak not of men, but of God, — of
that power to abstract the soul from the clay which gives
to the eye of the soul its subtle vision, and to the soul's
wing the unlimited realm — of that pure, severe, and daring
initiation, from which the mind emerges, as from death,
into clear perceptions of its kindred with the Father-Prin-
ciples of life and light, so that, in its own sense of the
Beautiful, it finds its joy ! in the serenity of its will, its
power ; in its sympathy with the youthfulness of the Infinite
Creation, of which itself is an essence and a part, the secrets
that embalm the very clay which they consecrate, and renew
the strength of life with the ambrosia of mysterious and
celestial sleep. And while he spoke, Yiola listened, breath-
less. If she could not comprehend, she no longer dared to
distrust. She felt that in that enthusiasm, self-deceiving
or not, no fiend could lurk ; and by an intuition, rather
than an effort of the reason, she saw before her, like a
starry ocean, the depth and mysterious beauty of the soul
which her fears had wronged. Yet, when he said (con-
cluding his strange confessions), that to this life within
life and above lifC; he had dreamed to raise her own, the

Z AN ON I. 303

fear of humanity crept over her, and he read in her silence
how vain, with all his science, would the dream have been.

But now, as he closed, and, leaning on his breast, she
felt the clasp of his protecting arms, — when, in one holy-
kiss, the past was forgiven and the present lost, — then
there returned to her the sweet and warm hopes of the
natural life — of the loving woman. He was come to save
her ! She asked not how — she believed it without a ques-
tion. They should be at last again united. They would
fly far from those scenes of violence and blood. Their
happy Ionian isle, their fearless solitudes, would once more
receive them. She laughed, with a child's joy, as this
picture rose up amidst the gloom of the dungeon I Her
mind, faithful to its sweet, simple instincts, refused to re-
ceive the lofty images that flitted confusedly by it, and
settled back to its human visions, yet more baseless, of the
earthly happiness and the tranquil home.

" Talk not now to me, beloved — talk not more now to
me of the past ! Thou art here — thou wilt save me ; we
shall live yet the common happy life ; that life with thee
is happiness and glory enough to me. Traverse, if thou
wilt, in thy pride of soul, the universe ; thy heart again is
the universe to mine. I thought but now that I was pre-
pared to die ; I see thee, touch thee, and again I know
how beautiful a thing is life ! See through the grate the
stars are fading from the sky; the morrow will soon be
here — the moiirow which will open the prison-doors I
Thou sayest thou canst save me — I will not doubt it now.
Oh, let us dwell no more in cities ! I never doubted thee

304 Z AN ONI.

in our lovely isle ; no dreams haunted me there, except
dreams of joy and beauty ; and thine eyes made yet more
beautiful and joyous the world in waking. To-morrow !
— why do you not smile ? To-morrow, love ! is not to-
moyn^oio a blessed word ! Cruel ! you would punish me
still, that you will not share my joy. Aha I see our little
one, how it laughs to my eyes ! I will talk to that. Child,
thy father is come back ! "

And taking the infant in her arms, and seating i.eiself
at a little distance, she rocked it to and fro on her bosom,
and prattled to it, and ^kissed it between every word ; and
laughed and wept by fits, as ever and anon she east over
her shoulder her playful, mirthful glance, upon the father
to whom those fading stars smiled sadly their last farewell.
How beautiful she seemed as she thus sat, unconscious of
the future ! Still half a child herself, her child laughing
to her laughter — two soft triflers on the brink of the
grave ! Over her throat, as she bent, fell, like a golden
cloud, her redundant hair ; it covered her treasure like a
veil of light ; and the child's little hands put it aside from
time to time, to smile through the parted tresses, and then
to cover its face and peep and smile again. It were cruel
to damp that joy, more cruel still to share it.

'' Yiola," said Zanoni, at last, "dost thou remember
that, seated by the cave on the moonlit beach, in our bri-
dal isle, thou once didst ask me for this amulet? — the
charm of a superstition long vanished from the world, with
the creed to which it belonged. It is the last relic of my
native land, and my mother, on her death-bed, placed it

Z A N O N T . 305

round my neck. I told thee then I would give it thee on
that day when the laws of our being should become the
same.''^

"I remember it well."

''To-morrow it shall be thine!"

'•' Ah, that dear to-morrow ! " And, gently laying down
her child, — for it slept now, — she threw herself on his
breast, and pointed to the dawn that began greyly to
creep along the skies.

There, in those horror-breathing walls, the day-star
looked through the dismal bars upon those three beings,
in whom were concentered whatever is most tender in
human ties ; whatever is most mysterious in the combina-
tions of the human mind ; the sleeping Innocence ; the
trustful Affection, that, contented with a touch, a breath,
can foresee no sorrow ; the weary Science that, traversing
all the secrets of creation, comes at last to Death for their
solution, and still clings, as it nears the threshold, to the
breast of Love. Thus, within, the luithin — a dungeon,
without, the iDithout — stately with marts and halls, with
palaces and temples — Revenge and Terror, at their
dark schemes and counter-schemes — to and fro, upon
the tide of the shifting passions, reeled the destinies of
men and nations ; and hard at hand that day-star, waning
into spate, looked with impartial eye on the church
tower and the guillotine. Up springs the blithesome
morn. In yon gardens the birds renew their familiar
song. The fishes are sporting through the freshening
waters of the Seine. The gladness of divine nature, the
26* u

306 ZANONI.

roar and dissonance of mortal life, awake again ; the
trader unbars his windows — the flower-girls troop gaily
to their haunts — busy feet are tramping to the daily
drudgeries that revolutions which strike down kings and
kaisars, leave the same Cain's heritage to the boor — the
wagons groan and reel to the mart — Tyranny, up be-
times, holds its pallid levee — Conspiracy, that hath not
slept, hears the clock, and whispers to its own heart,
"The hour draws near." A group gather, eager-eyed^
round the purlieus of the Convention Hall ; to-day decides
the sovereignty of France — about the courts of the
Tribunal their customary hum and stir. No matter what
the hazard of the die, or who the ruler, this day eighty
heads shall fall !

Jjt 3jC JfJ 575 5j^ -7*

And she slept so sweetly ! Wearied out with joy, se-
cure in the presence of the eyes regained, she had laughed
and wept herself to sleep ; and still, in that slumber, there
seemed a happy consciousness that the Loved was by —
the Lost was found. For she smiled and murmured to
herself, and breathed his name often, and stretched out
her arms, and sighed if they touched him not. He gazed
upon her as he stood apart — with what emotions it were
vain to say. She would wake no more to him — she could
not know how dearly the safety of that sleep was pur-
chased. That morrow she had so yearned for, — it had
come at last. How luould she greet the eve? Amidst
all the exquisite hopes with which love and youth contem-
plate the future, her eyes had closed. Those hopes still

ZANONI. ■ 30t

lent their iris-colors to her dreams. She would wake to
live ! To-morrow, and the Keign of Terror was no more
— the prison gates would be opened — she would go forth,
with their child, into that summer-world of light. And
he'? — he turned, and his eye fell upon the child ; it was
broad awake, and that clear, serious, thoughtful look
which it mostly wore, watched him with a solemn steadi-
ness. He bent over and kissed its lips.

"Never more," he murmured, " 0 heritor of love and
grief — never more wilt thou see me in thy visions — never
more will the light of those eyes be fed by celestial com-
mune — never more can my soul guard from thy pillow
the trouble and the disease. Not such as I would have
vainly shaped it, must be thy lot. In common with thy
race, it must be thine to suffer, to struggle, and to err.
But mild be thy human trials, and strong be thy sj^irit, to
love and to believe ! And thus, as I gaze upon thee —
thus may my nature breathe into thine its last and most
intense desire ; may my love for thy mother pass to thee,
and in thy looks may she hear my spirit comfort and con-
sole her. Hark! they come ! — Yes! I await ye both
beyond the grave ! "

The door slowly opened ; the gaoler appeared, and
through the aperture rushed, at the same instant, a ray
of sun-light — it streamed over the fair, hushed face of the
happy sleeper — it played like a smile upon ths lips of the
child, that still, mute and steadfast, watched the move-
ments of its father. At that moment Yiola muttered in
her sleep — '' The day is come — the gates are open ! Give

308 Z AN ONI.

me thy hand; we will go forth I To sea — to sea! —
How the sunshine plays upon the waters! — to home,
beloved one ! to home again."

" Citizen, thine hour is come ! "

"Hist! — she sleeps ! A moment ! There ! it is done I
thank Heaven ! — and still she sleeps ! " He would not
kiss, lest he should awaken her, but gently placed round
her neck the amulet that would speak to her, hereafter,
the farewell ; — and promise, in that farewell — reunion !
He is at the threshold — he turns again, and again. The
door closes ! He is gone for ever !

She woke at last — she gazed round. "Zanoni, itis
day ! " No answer but the low wail of her child. Merciful
heaven ! was it then all a dream ? She tossed back the
long tresses that must veil her sight — she felt the amulet
on her bosom — it was no dream ! " Oh, God ! and he is
gone!" She sprung to the door — she shrieked aloud.
The gaoler comes. "My husband, my child's father ? "

" He is gone before thee, woman ! "

" Whither ? Speak — speak ! "

" To the guillotine ! " — and the black door closed again.

It closed upon the Senseless ! As a lightning-flash,
Zanoni's words, his sadness, the true meaning of his mystic
gift, the very sacrifice he made for her, all became distinct
for a moment to her mind — and then darkness swept on
it like a storm, yet darkness which had its light. And,
while she sat there, mute, rigid, voiceless, as congealed
to stone, a vision, like a wind, glided over the deeps
within! — the grim court — the judge — the jury — the

ZANONI. 309

accuser j and amidst the victims the one dauntless and
radiant form.

" Thou knowest the danger to the State — confess ! "
" I know ; and I keep my promise. Judge, I reveal
thy doom ! I know that the Anarchy thou callest a
State expires with the setting of this sun. Hark ! to the
tramp without! — hark! to the roar of voices! Room
there, ye Dead ! — room in hell for Robespierre and his
crew ! "

They hurry into the court — the hasty and pale mes-
sengers— there is confusion, and fear, and dismay I "Off
with the conspirator! — and to-morrow the woman thou
wouldst have saved shall die ! "

" To-morrow, President, the steel falls on thee ! "
On, through the crowded and roaring streets, on moves
the Procession of Death. Ha, brave people ! thou art
aroused at last. They shall not die! — Death is de-
throned!— Robespierre has fallen! — they rush to the
rescue ! Hideous in the tumbril, by the side of Zanoni,
raved and gesticulated that form which, in his prophetic
dreams, he had seen his companion at the place of death.
" Save us ! — save us ! " howled the atheist Nicot I " On,
brave populace ! we shall be saved ! " And through the
crowd, her dark hair streaming wild, her eyes flashing
fire, pressed a female form — " My Clarence ! " she shrieked,
in the soft southern language, native to the ears of Yiola ;
" butcher ! what hast thou done with Clarence ? " Her
eyes roved over the eager faces of the prisoners ; she saw

310 ZANONI.

not the one she sought. "Thank Heaven! — thank
Heaven ! I am not thy murderess ! "

Nearer and nearer press the populace — another moment,
and the deathsman is defrauded. 0 Zanoni ! why still
upon thy brow the resignation that speaks no hope ?
Tramp ! tramp I through the streets, dash the armed
troop : faithful to his orders, Black Henriot leads them
on. Tramp ! tramp I over the craven and scattered
crowd I Here, flying in disorder — there, trampled in
the mire, the shrieking rescuers ! And amidst them,
stricken by the sabres of the guard, her long hair blood-
bedabbled, lies the Italian woman ; and still upon her
writhing lips sits joy, as they murmur — " Clarence 1 I
have not destroyed thee ! "

On to the Barriere du Trone. It frowns dark in the
air — the giant instrument of murder ! One after one to
the glaive ; — another, and another, and another I Mercy I
O mercy ! Is the bridge between the sun and the shades
so brief? — brief as a sigh? There, there — Ms turn has
come. " Die not yet; leave me not behind ; hear me —
hear me !" shrieked the inspired sleeper. "What ! and
thou smilest still I " They smiled — those pale lips — and
with the smile, the place of doom, the headsman, the
horror vanished ! With that smile, all space seemed
suffused in eternal sunshine. Up from the earth he rose
— he hovered over her — a thing not of matter — an idea
of joy and light ! Behind, Heaven opened, deep after
deep ; and the Hosts of Beauty were seen, rank upon
rank, afar ; and " Welcome I " in a myriad melodies, broke

ZANONI. 311

from your choral multitude, ye People of the Skies —
" Welcome ! 0 purified by sacrifice, and immortal only
through the grave — this it is to die." And radiant amidst
the radiant, the Image stretched forth its arms, and mur-
mured to the sleeper: "Companion of Eternity! — this
it is to die ! "

ijs * * * * *

" Ho ! wherefore do they make us signs from the house-
tops ? Wherefore gather the crowds through the street ?
Why sounds the bell ? Why shrieks the tocsin ? Hark
to the guns! — the armed clash! Fellow-captives, is
there hope for us at last ? "

So gasp out the prisoners, each to each. Day wanes
— evening closes ; still they press their white faces to the
bars ; and still from window and from house-top, they see
the smiles of friends — the waving signals ! " Hurrah ! "
at last — ''Hurrah! Robespierre is fallen ! The Reign
of Terror is no more ! God hath permitted us to live ! "

" Yes ; cast thine eyes into the hall, where the tyrant
and his conclave hearkened to the roar without! — Ful-
filling the prophecy of Dumas, Henriot, drunk with blood
and alcohol, reels within, and chucks his gory sabre on
the floor. "All is lost!"

''Wretch! thy cowardice hath destroyed us!" yelled
the fierce Coffinhal, as he hurled the coward from the
window.

Calm as despair stands the stern St. Just ; the palsied
Couthon crawls, grovelling, beneath the table; a shot —
an explosion ! Robespierre would destroy himself! The

312 ZANONI.

trembling hand has mangled, and failed to kill ! The
clock of the Hotel de Ville strikes the third hour. Through
the battered door — along the gloomy passages, into the
Death-hall, burst the crowd. Mangled, livid, blood-
stained, speechless, but not unconscious, sits, haughty yet,
in his seat erect, the Master-Murderer ! Around him
they throng — they hoot — they execrate! their faces
gleaming in the tossing torches I He, and not the starry
Magian, the real Sorcerer ! And round Ms last hours
gather the Fiends he raised !

They drag him forth I Open thy gates, inexorable
prison I The Conciergerie receives its prey ! Never a
word again on earth spoke Maximilien Robespierre I
Pour forth thy thousands, and tens of thousands, eman-
cipated Paris ! To the Place de la Bevolution, rolls the
tumbril of the King of Terror — St. Just, Dumas, Couthon
— his companions to the grave I A woman — a childless
woman, with hoary hair, springs to his side — '' Thy death
makes me drunk with joy ! " He opened his bloodshot
eyes — ''Descend to hell^ with the curses of wives and
mothers ! "

The headsmen wrench the rag from the shattered jaw !
a shriek, and the crowd laugh, and the axe descends
amidst the shout of the countless thousands. And black-
ness rushes on thy soul, Maximilien Robespierre ! So
ended the Reign of Terror.

******

Daylight in the prison. From cell to cell they hurry
with the news ; crowd upon crowd : — the joyous captives

ZANONI. 813

mingled with tne very gaolers, who, for fear, would fain
seem joyous too — they stream through the dens and
alleys of the grim house they will shortly leave. They
Durst into a cell, forgotten since the previous morning.
They found there a young female, sitting upon her
wretched bed ; her arms crossed upon her bosom, her face
raised upward ; the eyes unclosed, and a smile, of more
than serenity — of bliss upon her lips. Even in the riot
of their joy, they drew back in astonishment and awe.
Never had they seen life so beautiful ; and, as they crept
nearer, and with noiseless feet, they saw that the lips
breathed not, that the repose was of marble, that the
beauty and the ecstasy were of death. They gathered
round in silence ; and lo ! at her feet there was a young
infant, who, wakened by their tread, looked at them stead-
fastly, and with its rosy fingers played with its dead
mother's robe. An orphan there in the dungeon vault !

"Poor one ! " said the female (herself a parent) — "and
they say the father fell yesterday ; and now the mother !
Alone in the world, what can be its fate ? "

The infant smiled fearlessly on the crowd, as the woman
spoke thus. And the old Priest, who stood amongst
them, said, gently, "Woman, see! the orphan smiles!
The Fatherless are the care of God !

THE END,

II. — 27

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